


kiss me like it's a lie (as if i'm your last love)

by surething



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Cheeky Guang-Hong, College Student Katsuki Yuuri, Confident Katsuki Yuuri, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Poodles, Self-Indulgent, a lot of dissociation from yuuri, asdfdkfj, katsuki yuuri swears a lot, mom yuuri, phichit "i ruin peoples lives" chulanont, victor likes yuuri's ass, why isnt that a tag, yuuri Fucks Up, yuuri's a bitch tb h but we all love and support him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2018-12-25 06:26:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12030069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surething/pseuds/surething
Summary: “I’d make an amazing secretary,” says Yuuri, crossing one leg over the other. “It’s because I pole dance.”Victor’s eyebrows raise in high arches. “Oh.”Alternately: Yuuri tries his best to fuck up his job interview, but for some reason, big hotshot CEO Victor Nikiforov wants him anyway.





	1. yuuri tells victor that he's dumb thicc

**Author's Note:**

> title from as if it's your last; this is So Very self indulgent im crying tears of blood

“You’re a jerk. A big fat jerk,” says Yuuri to his ex-best friend, Phichit.

The man in question merely chuckles and waves a nonchalant hand at Yuuri. “I came up with meaner insults in third grade, Yuuri. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m going to _bomb_ this interview.”

“Only if you keep saying that!”

“I’m going to bomb this interview, I’m going to bomb this interview, I’m going to bomb this interview. How’s that?”

“It sounds like you’re trying to fail.” Phichit glares disapprovingly at him. “And the Yuuri I know would never do that.”

“Yeah, well, the old Yuuri can’t come to the phone right now. He’s DEAD.” He locks the car and slips the keys into his pocket, pointedly not staring Phichit in the face. “Maybe I do want to fail. Maybe I don’t even want this job at all, Phichit, thought of that?”

Phichit sucks in a deep breath and then releases it all in one big sigh. “ _Someone’s_ vindictive today.”

“I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“Because you need a job? To live? Money can be exchanged for goods and services?”

Yuuri makes a collection of small grumbling noises, marching right through the automatic doors and into the air-conditioned lobby. Phichit’s right, of course. But Yuuri doesn’t want to be the secretary of some hotshot CEO, especially when his area of study in college has nothing to do with sorting files and making appointments.

“Look, Yuuri,” Phichit finally says, breaking the sound of their shoes echoing on the tiled floor. “You know that every other job listed had like a gazillion of years of experience needed, and I hate to break it to you, but you have none.”

Phichit is ignored.

“Hey,” Yuuri directs at the receptionist, a man that looks like he could be straight out of a fairy tale with his gentle smile and perfectly gelled hair. He squints at the nametag, eyes still getting used to contacts. “…Otabek?”

“Hi. Do you need help with anything?”

“I’m here for the 1:30 interview for the position of secretary for Mr. Nikiforov.” Yuuri’s left eye twitches as he remembers that Phichit had booked him for a time right after lunch, right when he begins to bloat on a usual day.

“Take the elevator to the twelfth floor. When you get off, go straight down the hallway all the way to the end. That’s his office.”

Phichit moves to follow, but Otabek lets him know that only applicants are allowed up.

“See you on the flip side,” he calls weakly after Yuuri, who flips Phichit off behind his back as an answer.

* * *

The elevator is so nice that it fires up his nerves even more. God, this building – no, this floor – is worth more than his entire life. Phichit had been worried about Yuuri’s anxiety, rightfully so, but at least he won’t see any of these people again. Not if he has a say in things. Which he does! He totally does.

And really, to think that all he’d wanted to do was become a pole dancing instructor. But he needs money to pay rent and student loans, while simultaneously looking for an opening at a dance studio. On top of that, he still has to finish his degree in education before any dance instruction studio will take him seriously even as an assistant instructor.

The heels of his black dress shoes, the same ones he’d worn to his high school graduation, click on the floor ominously as he approaches Victor Nikiforov’s huge, extravagant office.

Phichit is sorely mistaken if he thinks that Yuuri _wants_ this job. In fact, he’d rather take a dishwashing job in a run-down diner than spend every day in an uncomfortable suit, setting up meetings for a Rich Asshole.

“I’m going to destroy this interview,” says Yuuri to himself, grinning despite his anxiety. “And not in the good way.”

People who meet Yuuri think he’s innocent. They think he’s shy, like a lamb. People who _know_ Yuuri also know that he’s bloodthirsty. He gets hungry for revenge, he’s jealous, he’s a wolf.

Rubbing his thumb over the steel of the door handle, he cools his head before the ornate doors. Then knocks.

“Come in!” a voice calls. He checks his watch. It’s only 1:24 – hopefully he’ll be out by 1:30. Any later is a bust, as far as Yuuri’s concerned.

He swings the door open and strides in, rumpling up his tie a little and adjusting the sleeves of his button-up so they sit barely unlevel with each other, just enough for it to be annoying.

For a moment, Victor doesn’t see him, still focusing on his work.

Yuuri clears his throat. “Hi, Mr. Nikiforov,” he says. You can do this, he tells himself. You took your meds today, you’re strong, and you can make yourself seem like the worst person ever. No big deal. After all, he thinks, I basically _am_ the worst candidate for this job.

“Hi,” says Victor warmly, finally looking up. He sets aside his pen and gestures for Yuuri to sit down. “Mr. Katsuki?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri replies. “That’s me.” He sits.

“So…you’re here for the job of secretary,” Victor says.

Yuuri makes an affirmative noise, staring straight into Victor’s eyes because he’s not sure where else to look. The man himself is devilishly attractive, every inch the bad YA-novel CEO, hot and probably in his late twenties.

“Do you have any prior experience?”

“Check the resumé,” Yuuri mutters, almost in a bored tone.

“So…no,” affirms Victor, pleasant smile faltering a bit. “Uh…pardon me, then, but what makes you think you’d be a good secretary for me?”

Yuuri lifts one shoulder in a slow shrug. “I don’t know,” he says, thinking about all the things he’s done in college that might need to make an appearance now. “I have some _skills_.” He tries to remember the stripping, and doing keg stands, and taking body shots off strangers.

“I see here you’ve just completed your bachelor’s degree in dance, and you’re currently working on an education degree,” Victor says, flipping through the resumé. He doesn’t have to do much flipping, because it’s abysmally short. “I don’t see how those relate to a desk job, but perhaps you could make me understand.”

“I’d make an amazing secretary,” says Yuuri, crossing one leg over the other. He’s running out of time to end the interview. “It’s because I pole dance.”

Victor’s eyebrows raise in high arches. “Oh.”

“I’m also really good at drinking champagne. I could give you tips. My record is two bottles in two hours, which is sixteen flutes. I’m okay at keg stands, too. You can ask anybody on campus – I’m pretty famous.” Yuuri notes how Victor’s face changes into a contemplating expression instead of a generic CEO smile. So far, so good. “I can pole dance pretty good drunk as well, but I tend to start stripping then. Not so great. But yeah, those are all reasons why you should hire me. Because I’m lit and dumb thicc.”

“Well, Mr. Katsuki…”

“You can just decide now,” he says, cutting Victor off so rudely it’d have his mother beating his ass from across the ocean. “Yes or no, c’mon.” Getting into character is surprisingly _fun_. “I’ve got an appointment soon.”

The CEO’s forehead creases in lines, and he twirls his pen around in circles. “I’ve come to a decision,” he says.

Yuuri smirks.

Victor leans forward on his chair, placing his elbows on the table. There’s something deviously lighthearted playing in the corners of his smile as he says, “You’re hired.”

* * *

“Phichit, I _hate_ you,” Yuuri says for the umpteenth time. “I hate you _so much_.”

“You should be thanking me,” Phichit snarks back. “You’re getting paid fucking fifty dollars an hour and I’m still stuck with my minimum wage retail job.”

“Can we trade jobs?”

“Fuck off and _die_ ,” says Phichit, mentally reliving all of his terrible working-in-retail stories. “I would if I could, you know that.”

Yuuri flops onto Phichit’s bed, messing up the neatly made blankets. “I guess there’re a couple of upsides. For one, we’ll be able to get a bigger apartment soon.”

“Hell yeah.”

“I just can’t believe he still wanted me. After how hard I tried to sound like a local college hooker.” Yuuri’s face goes white. “Jesus Christ. I said all that shit thinking I’d never see him again.”

“Yuuri–”

“I’ll _never_ be able to look at his stupid pretty face ever again, Phichit. Phichit, I told him I was dumb thicc.” Yuuri moans and hides his face in his hands.

Phichit’s eyes widen. “Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki. You. You did not just say that.”

“Oh. Did I forget to tell you?”

Phichit screams in frustration, sound echoing through their small apartment. “I can’t believe you would purposely try and destroy your chances of getting a job. You know people would kill for a job like yours.”

“What, where I get to file papers for hours?”

“I mean, yeah. Better than dealing with angry customers.”

“But Mr. Nikiforov’s right, you know,” says Yuuri. “I do have absolutely no fucking experience. I told him all I was good for was pole dancing and drinking copious amounts of alcohol. And that I’m _dumb thicc_.”

“Which you are good at, certainly,” agrees Phichit. “But you’re also amazing at time management. And I’m betting he doesn’t know about your near perfect GPA and international dance awards.”

“About that…” he begins nervously. “You let me write the resumé.”

“What did you do?”

“I lied and wrote that I had a 2.4 GPA throughout college,” admits Yuuri. “But hey, it worked out, right? I get this job I really don’t fucking want and will somehow have the money to pay the bills while I work out what I want to do in the future.”

“You really make me have an inferiority complex, you know?”

That makes Yuuri sit up and whack his BFF on the head. “You little fucker. You’re the greatest person I know.”

“I don’t know if I should stroke your ego anymore, but _you’re_ literally the greatest person I have ever met,” Phichit shoots back.

“Dude, look at me. I’m a dime-a-dozen Asian male with glasses, anxiety, and a face that turns red on command.”

“Turn red,” says Phichit. He raises an eyebrow as Yuuri actually goes red on command. “Oh my god. Oh my god, you did it.”

“It’s not hard. I just think about how I’m going to look Mr. Nikiforov in the face next week and pretend like I haven’t told him I strip when I’m drunk.”

“I really want to make a keyboard smash noise,” Phichit tells him. “But I can’t. You are so fucking unbelievable.”

Yuuri sighs and rolls off the bed. “I’m going to go get some water. I sure as hell need it.”

Phichit calls after him as he trudges into the kitchen, “I replaced all the plastic water bottles with water cartons! They’re better for the environment.”

“Thanks for solving climate change!” Yuuri calls back.

“No worries,” Phichit replies. “Just call me Daddy Donald.”

“Shut your hell mouth,” says Yuuri, back with two water cartons in hand. “Do we just sip right out of these cartons? Do we pour them?”

“We’ll never know.”

“This is strange,” gurgles Yuuri, drinking straight out of the carton. “It feels like I should be feeling ice-cold milk sliding down my throat, but it’s disappointingly bland.”

“You’re lactose intolerant, Yuuri.”

“Sometimes when I crave death I intake a shit ton of dairy,” says Yuuri. “The stomach cramps make me grateful for life.” He mimes throwing up and laughs, setting aside his water carton on the nightstand.

“That’s it.” Phichit points a finger accusingly at him. “You’re the one eating my ice cream.”

“Actually, that wasn’t me,” mutters Yuuri. “I might have given it all to Guang-Hong after he showed me his puppy eyes.”

“I’ve never hated you more.”

“You try looking into his eyes and saying no!”

“…fine,” Phichit acquiesces. “In return, can I dress you for your first hours on the job?”

“Fine,” mimics Yuuri.

* * *

It’s not the first time in the past week he’s cursed his best friend’s name, and it certainly won’t be the last. After all, only Phichit can explain why he’s standing in the lobby of a huge corporate building, wearing booty shorts and a see-through mesh shirt. But Yuuri tries his best not to break promises. He had promised that he’d let Phichit dress him, so he did.

Bad decisions. He’s good at making those.

At least Phichit had handed him a modest jacket before leaving the house, but it’s late May and the heat is picking up. If he wears it, so much sweat will run down his face that the thin layer of concealer hiding his acne will smear right off.

“…hi,” he finally says to Otabek, the receptionist, after a couple minutes of gathering his nerves, and also gathering his ass cheeks into the tiny fabric of his shorts.

Otabek raises a brow. “Hello. Do you need any help?”

“I’m the new secretary for Mr. Nikiforov.”

For a moment, Yuuri thinks Otabek will deny him access based on his outfit. But then, the receptionist lets out a little chuckle.

“I’m sure Victor will love your business attire,” he says in his deep voice. “Head right on up – he’ll lead you through the motions for your first day.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just beware this is all i have written,, and,, i'm trying to work on my (hopefully pretty lengthy) bnha boyband fic 
> 
> im?? mostly posting this bc i fucked up my 6k at crew and need an Outlet okay goodbye


	2. yuuri learns that life is fake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hfshfhdjfs im sTILL warning u this is so self indulgent that its the worst writing ive ever indulged in just Let Me Be Happy 
> 
> also my chapters are abysmally short shhh im working up to it also i got a Great Scare when my computer deleted all my opened word files (since i dont save any of my docs bc IM DUMB) but i recovered them!! 
> 
> it should be noted, since these are notes, that i know NOTHING about running companies or dancing or anything actually
> 
> also, yuuri's experiences being 2nd gen asian in america (in this fic) are loosely based on my own, except his parents are nicer

To Victor’s credit, he doesn’t even do a double take at Yuuri’s outfit. Instead, he just smiles with all his teeth shining like a toothpaste model, and pulls at Yuuri’s hand.

“Hi, Mr. Katsuki!” chirps Victor excitedly as he drags Yuuri down the hall by his hand.

“Uh…” says Yuuri, face bright red, and still clenching his ass cheeks in vain. “Can you let go of me? I don’t like being touched.” More accurately, he isn’t comfortable with it.

Victor shoots him a confused look and lets go, but allows the generic CEO smile to stay on his face. The smile is extremely distracting, and makes Yuuri dissociate, hard. What has he done in his life to deserve this?

It’s really very weird that Victor is calling him ‘Mr. Katsuki.’ Yuuri hasn’t been called a mister in a very long time – he thinks of that time in Pre-K when his teacher had admonished him with a “go stand in the corner mister and think about what you’ve done.” Privately, he doesn’t dislike the idea of Victor doing that to him, but that’s between his mind and the gutter. Also privately, he knows that the gutter is a slippery slope, and he’s not sure he wants to test the depth.

“Here’s your office,” says Victor, gesturing to a large and spacious white-tiled room with a _fucking chandelier_. Sia’s _Chandelier_ begins playing in his head, and Yuuri blindly thinks to himself that he wants to swing from that chandelier, straight through the window, and be freed from this existence.

But he doesn’t say that. “There’s a chandelier,” says Yuuri dumbly in reply.

Victor just hums and motions for Yuuri to step inside, so he does.

“I value my privacy, so I will respect yours too,” Victor says. “I will never come into your office without permission,” he turns to face Yuuri, “but that also means I am trusting that you are on-task.”

“Of course...uh…sir.” Yuuri sweats nervously. He’s good at staying focused, he _knows_ he is, but the easy way Victor slips into CEO-mode is still startling.

“Don’t worry about formalities – just call me Victor.”

“Uh…okay Victor.” He adds on as fast as he can, “And I’m still sorry about the outfit, but I lost a bet with my friend, and I _promise_ I’ll wear business attire tomorrow.”

“It’s fine.” Victor waves a hand. “There’s no dress code. Wear whatever you’d like.”

Yuuri squeaks in affirmation. He wonders if his complete 360 in personality is making Victor reconsider hiring him, but he has no time to dwell on such thoughts as Victor begins to explain the process of answering calls and using the desktop computer.

“Need me to repeat anything?” Victor asks, straightening the imperceptible wrinkles in his suit. He looks so put together, Yuuri thinks. Honestly the most attractive man he’s seen in his entire life.

“Yeah,” blurts Yuuri. “I mean. No. No, I’m good.”

Victor quirks an eyebrow. “Alright, Mr. Katsuki.”

“Yuuri’s fine.”

“Alright, Yuuri. Remember to knock on my door fifteen minutes before every appointment if I’m in my office.”

And with that, Victor sweeps out, leaving the fragrance of his cologne hanging in the air. The door clangs shut. Yuuri sinks down in the chair, head in his hands, waistband of his shorts uncomfortably tight around his waist.

He probably looks like such a fool, wearing this stupid outfit as if he’s trying to attract Victor’s attention. During the interview, he’d put himself out there so much, expecting never to see anyone here again. But now he has no way of taking back the persona he’d made for himself. And, believe it or not, Yuuri doesn’t want someone he’ll be interacting with on a mostly daily basis to label him by the self-descriptors he had thrown out on a whim last week.

Yuuri’s dilemma, however, is that Victor is an authority figure. In fact, Victor is _the_ authority figure. And Yuuri has always had his fear of authority – that habit practically ingrained in him from growing up Asian. The thought of disappointing Victor is nearly as scary as disappointing his own parents.

He takes a deep breath. Tells himself that it only gets better from here. Tomorrow, he’ll be completely professional. He’ll do the best job – whether or not Yuuri wants to admit it, he’s completely capable of actually completing the tasks required – and win back Victor’s respect.

“One call at a time,” he mutters to himself as the phone rings for the first time, sharp and jarring against the stillness of the room. “Here we go.”

* * *

“I just hired him, Chris. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“You obviously have some idea of what you’re doing, babe, since you just hired the man with the best ass in this entire state. I _saw_ him walk by my office on the way to the elevator.”

Victor sighs and switches the smartphone to his left hand, picking up a pen with the right. “I mean, it’s not like I can’t afford to hire him, but I’m worried he won’t actually be able to handle the job.” He signs off on a few papers and tosses them into a stack.

“Hey, don’t judge a book by its cover,” comes Chris’s tinny voice over the speakers. “Just because he dances doesn’t mean he’s not capable. Just look at me!”

“Yeah, his GPA in college was a 2.4,” deadpans Victor. “I think I’ve lost it, Chris. This is it. I lose my corporate empire because of a pretty boy.”

“Oh, come on. Hiring a secretary isn’t going to destroy the company.”

“He was just too interesting,” huffs Victor. “He literally threw bait straight at my face, and I bit like the stupid fish I am.”

“We’ll see,” says Chris ominously. “He might yet be the best secretary you’ve ever had.”

“Or the worst.”

“Or that,” Christophe acquiesces. “But I don’t think so. You were just telling me how he seemed different this morning, yes?”

“Well, yeah.” Victor runs a hand through his hand, wincing as a few stray strands come out. “He wasn’t as confident, and I think he was kind of nervous. And he mentioned losing a bet. But he was still really pretty.”

There’s silence on the other end.

Suddenly, Victor gasps. “Chris, what if he tried to fail the interview for a bet?”

“I think you better go ask him what the bet was.”

“I don’t think I want to hear the answer to that question.”

“Come on, babe, you got this.”

“I really don’t,” says Victor, already preparing to end the call. “I’ll talk to you later, Chris. I gotta go.”

“I can tell when you’re lying, Victor,” Chris says quietly. “You better let me know how he does, okay? Bye-bye!”

The call cuts off with a loud beep.

Victor sighs, again. “One day at a time,” he says, watching a meeting pop up on his calendar, the first sign of Yuuri’s work he’s seen so far. “Here we go.”

* * *

The work is, just as he had expected, boring and mind-numbing. In another way, though, he respects just how hard Victor’s job is. It’s only been a few hours, but he’s had to decline a couple appointments simply because Victor’s schedule has no room for it.

Bracing his hands on his (expensive-looking) desk, he pushes himself up and out of his chair fifteen minutes before Victor’s first meeting of the day.

“Victor?” he calls tentatively, and raps his knuckles against the doors. The last time he had stood in front of Victor’s office, he’d just thrown the doors open, but then again, that whole experience was A Regret.

A muffled voice rings out from behind the doors, but Yuuri for the life of him cannot understand what the voice is saying. Suddenly, the doors open and a very clear, a very HD Victor appears in front of his eyes. His edges are so _sharp_ , marvels Yuuri to himself, before he shakes his head and clears his thoughts.

“You have a meeting with a top stakeholder,” he says, one hand coming up to tuck his gelled hair behind his ear. “In fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks for telling me, Yuuri,” says Victor, smiling warmly. “Anything else?”

Yuuri shakes his head no and heads back to his office, blinking so the contacts will stop irritating his eyes. Maybe tomorrow he’ll wear his glasses.

There’s practically nothing to do for another hour other than separate piles of paperwork, so Yuuri takes the time to buy himself a coffee from the Starbucks nestled in corner of the lobby. The barista, a nice guy named Leo, does a double take at his outfit, but he probably deserves that. Since, you know, the other tables are all occupied by graying businessmen wearing suits.

In the café, he meets a woman named Sara, a friendly intern a little younger than him, and they strike up conversation. Unfortunately, her brother, who apparently had insisted on interning at the exact same company as her, breaks up the conversation before Yuuri can really make friends.

“I’ll talk to you later!” Sara promises, but Michele, her brother, gives Yuuri a look that says that he’ll _never_ see Sara again if he values his life. Which he does, most of the time.

He’s on his way back to the elevator with his cup of iced coffee when a hand grabs his wrist, and then another hand grabs his ass. Yuuri just manages to keep his drink from spilling as he’s pulled into a large, spacious office.

“Is this like freshman hazing or something?” wonders Yuuri dazedly, sipping on his coffee.

“Wow,” comes the voice of the man who’s still holding his wrist. “You’re not even surprised.”

“Dissociation,” explains Yuuri, feeling a little bit like he doesn’t exist. “My whole life seems fake right now.”

“…not what I expected, but okay, babe,” the smooth voice sounds again. Yuuri turns towards him to see a crop of messy blonde hair and green eyes.

“And you are?”

“Christophe Giacometti,” Christophe says. “I’m a design team head here. Work with that obnoxious Canadian man. Call me Chris.” God, why are the workers in this building so fucking attractive?

“That’s cool. I’m Yuuri. Might not look like it, but apparently I’m Mr. Nikiforov’s new secretary.” He indiscreetly pulls down his shirt a bit, so he can pretend like he has some modesty.

“Does he really make you call him Mr. Nikiforov?”

“No,” says Yuuri, taking another sip from his coffee. “He said for me to call him Victor, but it’s kind of weird.”

“I would say that you’re the weird one here, babe.”

“That,” exclaims Yuuri, pointing at Chris. “That thing! Do you just call everyone babe?”

“Only the cute ones,” Chris says, winking.

“Come on.” Yuuri rolls his eyes.

Chris walks over to his desk placed strategically against the wall, and sits. “Actually, I just wanted to meet the newbie.”

“So you kidnapped me.”

“Victor won’t mind.” Chris waves a hand. “We’re best friends.”

“Oh.”

“How’s he treating you?”

“We haven’t really talked,” admits Yuuri. “Not that I really care. I just want to do my job and leave, you know?”

“I think you should find some time to meet with him.”

“It’s not about me finding time. He’s a CEO! When will he ever have the time?”

“You have his schedule.” Chris winks. “You also have the authority to decline appointments.”

Yuuri stares at him, aghast. “I can’t _do_ that!”

“Well, you could. But you’re quite right. I wouldn’t advise doing that.”

“I would never.”

Chris peers at Yuuri over the top of his circle lens, green gaze boring into him like a drill. “And may I ask why you’re wearing that outfit? Not that I don’t appreciate it, of course.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “I can’t wait until I change out of it. I promise this isn’t what I usually wear.”

“Hm. But I heard you have…quite the wild days behind you, mister two point four GPA,” Chris says, eyes gleaming. “As do I, of course.”

“I…I’m mostly telling you this because I don’t want you to get the wrong impression,” Yuuri says, crossing his arms defensively, “but I also don’t want to get fired – so can you not tell Victor?”

“Sure,” says Chris dismissively. “Of course, if it’s of serious concern, you know I can’t keep it confidential, right?”

“Uh…anyway, I sort of lied on my résumé,” admits Yuuri. “I didn’t have a 2.4 GPA.”

“Even lower?” gasps Chris.

“No.” At that, Yuuri cracks a smile. “I mean, I don’t know if this would be of serious concern, but I had around a 3.9.”

Chris whistles, twirling a purpose pen around between his fingers. “Why would you lie about that, babe?”

“Can’t comment on it.”

“Same reason you’re wearing that delectable outfit?”

“But that’s all because of Phichit!”

Chris smiles like he’s a shark who’s just found his prey. “Oho, lose a bet?”

“Well, sort of. I gave all of my roommate’s ice cream away, and he did this to me.”

The other man leans back in his chair, mouth open slightly in surprise. “Oh. That’s certainly interesting. I’m assuming you’ll be wearing business attire tomorrow, then.” Chris seems to have attributed the lying on his résumé to Phichit and the ice cream ordeal as well, and Yuuri sure isn’t going to correct him.

“Yeah,” sighs Yuuri. “I really wish I could just wear my normal clothing, but everyone here is so fancy, and I’m just a college student.”

“It’s alright,” says Chris. “Like I said, talk to Victor. I’m sure you’ll be allowed to wear what you like, provided you work more comfortably.”

Yuuri ponders it. “He did say that there’s no dress code.” He drains the remainder of his iced coffee and twirls the straw around with his fingers. “I’ve got to go back to work.”

“Well, I’ll see you around, alright? Maybe we can go clubbing together.”

Yuuri winces. “Yeah…maybe.” No. _Definitely_ not. He wants to fix his image, not ruin it even further. After waving goodbye, he shuts the door closed gently and makes his way to the elevator. Only four more hours of work, and them he has dance practice for two hours. He shivers as he recalls that Phichit had not packed him a change of clothes.

“Minako’s going to kill me,” he mutters, thinking of his hot-headed ballet and pole-dancing mentor as he steps out of the elevator.

“Your girlfriend?” a voice pipes up from leftfield, making Yuuri jump.

“Who?” He swivels around to come face to face with Victor Nikiforov, who falls in step with him as they walk down the hall. Yuuri wonders, distantly, if it would be too much to ask for Victor’s autograph.

“Minako. Is she your girlfriend?”

“Oh, god no,” says Yuuri, trying to avoid Victor’s pretty blue eyes. “She’s like twice my age.” Minako would kill him if she knew he was telling strangers about her age.

“Why is she going to kill you? I can’t have my new secretary dying on the first day.”

I wish I were dead, thinks Yuuri glumly as he makes another attempt to stop sneaking glances at the model-like man next to him. “I forgot to bring my clothes for dance practice today. It’s not a big deal. I’ll just dance in this.”

Victor chuckles lowly, a sinuous sound that makes a tremor run down Yuuri’s spine. “I’m sure you’ll be _fine_ ,” he says.

Yuuri glances around unsurely. “Yeah. Thanks for the concern, though. How was your meeting?” They stop walking in front of Victor’s office, Victor awkwardly with one hand on the door.

“Tiring, but expected. I think I have another one in…” he trails off, rubbing his chin with one hand.

“An hour,” reminds Yuuri. “A lunch meeting at 11:30 with the chief executive of your design branch. He wanted to discuss ideas about the displays of your new line of phones.”

“Oh god.” Victor laughs and runs a hand through his hair. “What’s his name again? Joe-Jake?”

“Jean-Jacques,” Yuuri says, stifling a laugh. “But he said over the phone to refer to him as JJ.”

“Right. JJ. He’s obnoxious, but undoubtedly good at what he does.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll see you later, then, Yuuri.” Victor tugs the door open, forearm muscles tensing and corded. Yuuri salivates.

“Do you even lift?” he says, then squeaks as he realizes what he’s said. “Never mind,” he yelps as he backs down the hall. “I meant…do you…lift the stocks? Lift up your fellow employees? Oh my god, never mind.”

Victor just watches with an amused smile as Yuuri scuttles down the hall back into his office.

“Yeah,” he calls down after him. “I do lift.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im heading to the white night tour in vancouver bc tomorrow and i will die


	3. yuuri releases stress by grinding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS white night was so good 
> 
> have an extra 700 words lmfao im tired + e-mo-tion is still the best pop album to exist carly SAVED the gays 
> 
> just a Reminder that i don't have any future chapters written up so i have actually NO CLUE what the plot is or what anyone's backstory is because i'm a fuckup like that

“Good morning, Yuuri!” calls Victor from the open door of his office as Yuuri passes by holding a stack of paperwork.

“Morning,” he replies, wishing he could let go of the papers with one hand to wave. He barely edges open his own office door with an elbow and a heel, then plops all the paperwork onto his desk. Victor comes wandering into his office a few seconds later. “Is it just me or is the workload increasing?”

“Is that a problem?” Victor asks, voice still a little raspy in the morning. Yuuri’s learned that Victor’s smooth-as-caramel voice only appears after the fifth cup of coffee, of the type that Leo usually spends ten minutes in the back crafting by hand.

“No,” Yuuri says, trying to sound competent. Today, he’s dressed in a soft hoodie and a pair of skinny jeans, a good contrast to his second day at work wherein:

  1. He’d worn black slacks, a white button-up, and a sky-blue tie,
  2. Gotten yelled at by his boss for wearing such an ugly tie to work,
  3. Cried in the bathroom because it was the only tie he owned and he panicked,
  4. And ended up being comforted by said boss on the tiled floor of the fanciest bathroom he’d ever been in.



It _had_ been a good bonding moment.

The conclusion of the story is that Yuuri wears whatever he wants to work, and no one bats an eye. He’s grateful for the lack of attention; the first day here in that godforsaken outfit had almost been enough to End Him.

(“But that’s what you wore all the time during undergrad,” says Phichit, duly confused.

“No one has to fucking know about that,” mutters Yuuri. “In fact, I need to get rid of all evidence.”

Phichit already has his phone dialed to 911. “No matter where you bury my body, they’ll find you, Yuuri! You won’t get away with this!”

“Know a place where I can bury my own body and no one will find me?”)

Yuuri’s brought back to present-day when Victor slips into his chair and spins around in a circle. “Your chair’s comfier than mine,” he complains, pouting.

“Then get a new chair,” Yuuri deadpans, unwilling to deal with Victor’s shenanigans.

“Anyways,” says Victor flippantly, ignoring Yuuri’s comment, “the workload is increasing because I’m about to buy Mr. Celestino’s company. The one with the facial recognition software.”

“Dangerous territory,” he muses, taking a peek at the top layer of the paperwork.

“What? Facial recognition software? But it will be essential for the new line of phones.”

“If you say so,” says Yuuri doubtfully. “I hope it works out.”

“That, my friend, all depends on your ability to finish this paperwork by the time I have my first meeting with Celestino.”

“That’s in two hours!” says Yuuri, horrified.

“Yep!”

“Victor!”

“I know you’re capable,” Victor says, leaping out of Yuuri’s spinney chair and running for the door. “Gotta blast!”

“You think I’m…capable?” says Yuuri wondrously to the silence after the door clangs shut. He picks up a pen and the first page slowly. “Victor thinks I’m capable.”

Then he gets to work.

In just under two hours, he trudges, weary, to Victor’s office. First knocking, remembering that the office is soundproof both ways, he shifts uneasily from foot to foot, trying to stretch out his cramped muscles.

Still the picture of flawlessness, Victor opens the door with an elegance Yuuri has spent his entire life trying to emulate to no avail. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“You have the meeting in fifteen minutes.”

“Crap,” says Victor, completely unprofessionally. “Where are my notes? Fuck. I swear I had them like a minute ago.”

“I have them,” answers Yuuri, holding a stack of manila folders. “I also have all the necessary paperwork.”

Victor stops looking around his office and beams. “Great! Let’s go.”

He tries his best not to drop all his folders even as his mouth drops faster than fans dropped Taylor Swift. “I’m coming with you?”

“Well, I’m not carrying all of those folders. Looks heavy.”

They aren’t really, is what Yuuri wants to say. Instead, he just looks away and follows Victor down the hall.

Spoiler alert: the meeting is extremely boring. Yuuri sits there for the longest time, trying not to give in and pick at his nails instead of pretending like he’s paying attention. Instead, he focuses on Celestino’s funny butt-chin when the man talks, and studies the veins lining Victor’s forearms when the CEO gestures at a particular data chart.

All in all, it’s a productive session for the two businessmen, but Yuuri returns to his office with a stack of paperwork waiting for him and at least three missed calls, one of them from JJ.

A shiver runs up Yuuri’s spine at the thought of calling JJ back and having to listen to his voice for more than five minutes. Nevertheless, he picks up the phone reluctantly, and dials.

* * *

“Work sucked ass today,” Yuuri grumbles, slumping onto Guang-hong, who topples over with a squeak. “There was so much…” Even after the meeting, the paperwork had not ceased. Victor is certainly nice, but he has high expectations for his staff. Luckily, it’s Friday, marking the release from the hands of capitalism for the weekend.

“Raid the fridge?” suggests Guang-hong, who’s eager to get his hands on some of Phichit’s ice-cream for the second time.  

“ _No_ ,” says Yuuri with emphasis. “You’re never allowed near our fridge again.”

Guang-hong sighs. “You’re such a disappointing friend, Yuuri.”

“Okay, look, you little twink, Phichit’s going to be home in another seven minutes, so if you could _stop_ yourself from illegally eating his ice-cream for that much time…”

“You know he’d never say yes if I asked him.”

“Which is why I’m not going to say yes, either.”

“Aw, come on, Yuuri,” Guang-hong says, pulling out his best pout. “What’s changed?”

“Last time,” says Yuuri with a big eye-roll, “Phichit made me dress in my old uni clothing for my first day of work.” He sits his ass down on one of the plastic chairs by the dinner table, and makes a mental note to spend his next paycheck on getting actual furniture.

“Oh yeah, your big important corporate work,” mocks Guang-hong. Three years ago, when they had met, Guang-hong had been the sweetest and tiniest boy, the Best Boy. Now all he does is make fun of Yuuri. “Fuck the boss yet?”

Yuuri gapes at the other boy openly, fanning himself with one hand. “Oh my god, Guang-hong! No fucking way.”

“Get that promotion, Yuuri,” hisses Guang-hong.

“Promotion to what? Overlord of all secretaries?”

“To sugar baby, obviously! Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“I’m g’na f’ckin kill you,” mutters Yuuri between clenched teeth.

“Yeah, just clench your teeth harder. You’ll need the practice.”

“You are so dead.”

“By the way,” says Guang-hong nonchalantly, “I’m coming to your workplace on Monday.”

Yuuri leaps out of his chair right as Phichit swings the door open.

“Hey guys!”

Guang-hong waves, but Yuuri ignores him. “You’re coming to visit me?”

“Not everything is about you, princess. I’m going to visit my friend, who _works_ there.”

“Sara? Michele? Otabek? Emil? Tell me who!” Yuuri lists, frantically searching his brain for more names. “Please, please, please don’t tell me your friend is JJ.”

“JJ? Jay Jay the Jet Plane? Who even is that?”

“Obnoxious head designer,” Phichit adds helpfully.

“Oh.” Guang-hong frowns. “Nah, my friend’s name is Leo.”

“You’re friends with _Leo_?”

“Uh, yeah, is there a problem?”

“He’s so nice!” Yuuri cries, ruffling his hair wildly. “How could he be friends with you?”

“I’m nice too,” the man in question asserts, waving his arms around in defensive gestures.

Yuuri crosses his arms, staring at Guang-hong as he takes Phichit’s coat automatically and tosses it into the closet behind him. “Leo literally saves my life,” he says slowly. “Leo gives me the perfect coffee _and_ talks to me at lunch time. You better not ruin him.”

“Hey, he was my friend first,” argues Guang-hong. “You can’t be protective like that.”

“I can and I will,” says Yuuri. “Don’t tell me what to do.” Nevertheless, a smile creeps onto his face. “Well, okay. I guess I’ll see your ugly mug on Monday.”

“Yeah, yeah, Yuuri. It’s kind of exciting that you have such a fuckin’ awesome job.”

“Being a secretary?”

“No, fucking the boss.”

Phichit gasps, the sound echoing loudly in the small kitchen. “You’ve been _what_?”

“It’s a lie,” Yuuri yelps. “He’s trying to get back at me for not giving away your ice-cream.”

“Oh.” Phichit contemplates that. “I guess I’ll take your side on this, then.” He opens the door to check the ice-cream, and sure enough, all is in stock. “Thanks, dude. Solid.” He flashes them finger guns, taking out a pint of mint chocolate chip ice-cream much to Guang-hong’s consternation.

“Dude, bro, I love you, but can’t you wait until I leave to pull that out?”

“You better leave now, then,” says Phichit. “Because I’m sure as hell scarfing this entire pint _right now_.”

“It’s fall,” Yuuri says flatly. “We’re going out for dinner in an hour.”

“I have my reasons,” declares Phichit angrily. “You wouldn’t know.”

The other two roll their eyes simultaneously, used to Phichit’s antics.

“By the way,” starts Guang-hong, “Yuuri’s paying for us today.”

Yuuri grumbles about it for a bit, but hey, his bank account’s looking pretty stellar, and he’s got to treat his underclassmen right once in a while. It’s between paying for some meals or full on mutiny from two of his (only) friends, and he’d rather spend some money than deal with Guang-hong whining for more than two minutes.

“Lit,” says Phichit. “Can we go get Chinese down the street?”

“Phichit!” Guang-hong cries, utterly offended, face looking like someone had just siphoned rotten milk into his right nostril. “I can cook better _authentic_ Chinese food than that restaurant, any other restaurant, and your mom, combined!”

“He’s right,” supports Yuuri. “He’s a…a what? A gastroenterology major? Anyways, listen to the baby.”

“I resent that. And also, it’s _gastronomy_. I’m a fuckin’ good cook, alright?”

“Yain’t ever cooked for us, though.”

“Yain’t,” snickers Yuuri, collapsing over on the table in laughter.

“ _Never speak again_ ,” says Guang-hong. “ _Never talk to me with that hell mouth again_.”

“Anyways, can we get Chinese?”

“I thought I told you not to speak again!”

“Let’s compromise,” says Yuuri, pretending to be the older, voice of reason. “Let’s get sushi, and then get fucking wasted at some trashy club.”

“Hey!” complains Guang-hong. “I can also make sushi better than–”

“You don’t make sushi better than my mother,” says Yuuri dangerously. “Don’t even try that.”

“I _cannot_ believe that you’re suggesting this, Yuuri,” Phichit says, excitement mounting on his face. “Work must have you pretty down. Can I dress you? Can we go to a fancy club? Not a trashy one?”

“No.” Yuuri shuts him down decisively, but lifts up one finger at Phichit’s forlorn face. “But I’m going to dress myself, for real this time. And yeah, sure, let’s go to a nicer club.”

“Hair gel?”

“Check.”

“Contacts?”

“Ugh, fine, check.”

The two erupt into cheers at Yuuri’s concession, banging the table madly.

“Revival of sexy Yuuri!” Phichit cries, leaping up and running into their shared bedroom. His muffled voice rings out, “I get to do your eyeliner!”

“Fine,” screams Yuuri back at him. “Get out your waterproof – remember I cry when I’m drunk.”

“Shit yeah!”

* * *

“This was an awful idea,” says Yuuri. They’re at a pretty decent club, probably a little more expensive than any of them are used to. Phichit had picked it, clearly with the numbers on Yuuri’s paycheck in mind.

“It was _your_ idea,” reminds Phichit.

Yuuri surveys the dance floor warily, a headache building at the dim lighting and flashing beams of color. “Guang-hong doesn’t even look old enough to be here.”

“I know I’m cute-looking, but hey!”

“It’s not fun unless you’re drunk,” decides Phichit, standing up to go get drinks. “I’ll put them on your tab, don’t worry Yuuri.”

“Not worried.”

“You okay, dude? Need to puke?” asks Guang-hong while Phichit is out. He rests his chin in his hand and looks at Yuuri with some semi-passable look of concern.

“I’m good. I think Phichit’s right. Being sober is making me way too nervous.”

“You’ve been out of the scene for a while, haven’t you?”

Yuuri laughs weakly. “Yeah, I guess. But I haven’t minded. You know I never dance for the attention – I dance to dance.”

“You know neither of us would question it if you wanted to go home today, right?”

Yuuri flashes the other boy a smile. “Thanks.”

“I never want to see you like you were two years ago, Yuuri.”

“Neither do I,” says Phichit, carrying a tray of colorful looking drinks. “Some shit to get us a little fizzy on the inside. I don’t think I can take the hard stuff today.”

“Call me a kid…” Guang-hong begins.

“Kid!” Phichit all but shouts, sliding into the booth.

“…but I like juice, and I also like fruity-flavored drinks. Sue me.”

Meanwhile, Yuuri’s already holding a glass in his hands, eyes bright. “This is pretty good.”

“Should be.”

Sip by sip, the steady ringing in his head dies down, and he focuses more and more on his friends, the taste of the drink, and the catchy music. I’ve taken my meds, he tells himself. I’m going to have fun.

Phichit taps his hands on Yuuri’s once, twice, and shoots him a look. Yuuri smiles back, giving his best reassuring look.

“You guys are doing the telepathic communication thing again,” complains Guang-hong. “Can we talk about the tea now?”

“What tea?” says Phichit, attention turned to their youngest friend. “In your life, or Yuuri’s?”

“Yuuri’s, duh.”

“Ugh,” groans Yuuri. His fingers tap on the table counter nervously. “I can’t wait until fall semester starts and I can quit this hell job.”

“You’re stuck with Victor Nikiforov for four more months, though.”

“I mean, I don’t mind. The work’s not too bad and I’ve sort of made friends there.”

“Are you friends with Mr. CEO?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Yuuri considers it for a short while, head cocked. “We’re definitely acquaintances. But I don’t think I could ever really be friends with him, not in the way I’m friends with you guys.”

Phichit takes a loud slurp of his second drink, eyes wide. “Why not?”

“He’s my boss! I feel like I need to watch my every move when I’m with him.”

“Aw, come on, I’m friends with _my_ boss,” Guang-hong says, waving his hands daintily.

“You work at a café and your manager’s like a seventy year old lady with fifteen cats.”

“I know and I love her.”

“Maybe you should ask Nikiforov about his pets,” suggests Phichit. “Maybe he has fifteen cats. Maybe he has a toy poodle like you do at home.”

“I’d become best buds with Victor Nikiforov in a heartbeat if he had a poodle. Fuck, I’m only friends with Seung-gil to get pics of his dog.”

“That’s kinda cold.” Phichit pushes another glass towards Yuuri, this time with a liquid colored an ominous purple.

“It’s true, though.” Yuuri’s lying. He loves Seung-gil and the man’s ridiculous eyebrows, even if Seung-gil never responds to his texts with more than five words.

“Okay!” Guang-hong claps his hands loudly, but Yuuri barely hears it over the music. “Your homework is to ask Nikiforov if he has a pet!”

“Homework? The fuck?”

“Sorry.” Phichit shrugs. “I don’t make the rules.”

“Yeah…yeah you fucking do.”

“Whatever, dude, just ask him.”

He acquiesces and shakes their hands, giggling a little bit even though the situation is in no way funny. Deciding that they need more drinks, he stands up and goes over to the bar, where he orders some harder stuff for himself and lighter mixes for the other two. Yuuri knows Phichit hates drinks that don’t taste good on a basic level, and Guang-hong, baby that he is, barely drinks as it is.

“I’m going to finish this and then go dance,” he says to the table, gesturing at his drink. It’ll probably make him more tipsy than necessary, but he’ll need the liquid confidence to have fun, which he intends, definitely, to have tonight. Maybe he’ll even cry a bit. God knows he needs a good cry.

“Sure.” Phichit shrugs. “We’ll join you in a bit.”

* * *

His eyes are closed, but lights pulse behind his eyelids like a calming dreamscape. Although the music booms, the shudder in his bones feels a lot more like home than alien. What he loves most about clubs and the crowds is that he is just a single particle, one person writhing in the mass of hundreds. No spotlights, no pressure, no feeling but giddy warmth and movement.

Before college, even while taking pole dancing lessons in secret from Minako while his parents thought he was doing ballet, he had wanted to try other styles. He had spent all his free time testing out salsa, contemporary…anything he could get his hands on.

On the dancefloor of a club, he’s easily one of the most fluid people there. Soon, a circle of people gather around him as he dances his way closer to the hazy, rumbling DJ stand. They whistle and cheer whenever he does something that looks cool, and he loves it.

No judges watching. No one taking notes of all his faults, waiting for the slightest error to pick on.

His “routine” ends as he collapses on the small circle of floor that’s opened up, sweating and happy. The crowd shouts in approval and he gets back up, intending on melding back into the swarm of people that have closed up.

A pale hand washed magenta by the lights grabs him by the shoulder, rather gently. Yuuri blinks at the sudden feeling, contacts irritating his eyes. Who…?

He turns around and squints, lights and alcohol blurring his vision.

They say something over the music, but it’s not loud enough. Yuuri blinks some more, and the picture suddenly falls into place.

“You…” he says, dumbfounded. What the _fuck_ is _he_ doing here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want jisoo to step on my face killing me instantly 
> 
> victor: i like big butts and i cannot lie


	4. yuuri and 'the banquet'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lil poll for u guys since i don't really have a preference for this shit-bucket of a fanfic:   
> \- chucometti or seungchuchu?   
> \- vicchan lives or vicchan dies?   
> \- platonic leo/guanghong or romantic leo/guanghong?  
> \- slow burn or 'woah we got together too fast and now we have Issues'? 
> 
> okay thanks 
> 
> this one's a bit shorter since school and crew have me beat this week but yeah! i might not be updating once a week bc of academic stuff,, we'll see how the time goes

In hindsight, the mystery man isn’t so much a mystery but an oh-I-should-have-expected-that sort of man.

“Fancy seeing you here, babe,” Christophe all but yells, still glimmering in waves of dim pink and blue. “How come I’ve never bumped into you?”

Yuuri supposes he once had a shirt on, but now the man is devastatingly shirtless, with assloads of glitter clinging to his body. “I don’t know,” Yuuri shouts back, edging away from the DJ booth so he can be heard. “Good luck getting all that fucking glitter out.” He’s not exactly shocked that of all people from work to be here, it’d be Chris.

Chris sighs, brushing at his sparkling forearms but only getting more glitter stuck to his hands. “I know, right? They just dumped all this on me. I like it though.”

“I think it looks awesome.” Yuuri is definitely drunk. He doesn’t know how much, but it’s enough to make him blurt stupid things.

“You’ve had a bit to drink, haven’t you?” Chris leans in close and brushes some of the glitter in his hair onto Yuuri’s head of gelled black hair. “Let’s party! C’mon!” He pulls at the front of Yuuri’s low-plunging tank-top and drags him back into the crowd.

Yuuri changes directions. “Will you meet my friends?” he screams over the pulsing bass. He doesn’t hear Chris’s reply but just keeps on pulling him towards the table where Phichit and Guang-hong are fighting animatedly about something or other.

“…I fucking hate Pikachu!” Guang-hong practically roars.

“I fucking hate you!” Phichit spits back, slamming a glass of clear liquor down onto the table. The liquid sloshes around but doesn’t spill.

“Woah,” says Yuuri, hand clammy around Chris’s wrist. “Calm down, guys.” He almost forgets Chris is with him.

“Who’s the hottie?” asks Phichit with no shame.

Yuuri looks back, mouth opened in an O as Chris winks and shoots Phichit a seductive smile.

“Christophe Giacometti,” he purrs. “Pleased to meet you…”

“Phichit,” Phichit supplies. “And the twink is Guang-hong.”

Guang-hong perks up at his name. “Are you taking Yuuri home?”

Yuuri chokes on a mouthful of Phichit’s drink. “No!” he says, turning bright red. “We work together. I wanted you guys to meet him.” 

“I’m one of the head designers of the company,” Chris offers. “But my official job is Victor Nikiforov’s best buddy.” Jealous that Chris seems mostly sober or is far better at holding his drink, Yuuri glares at him.

“Oho,” chirps Phichit. “You know the man himself.”

“Indeed I do,” says Chris, clapping his hands excitedly. “I can say that I wasn’t expecting to see shy little Yuuri here, although I have invited him to go clubbing with me multiple times.”

“And you declined?” asks Phichit, aghast.

“I know,” sighs Chris. “I was heartbroken. But let’s dance now, yes?”

The two trouble-makers are already downing the last of their drinks and sliding out of the booth.

“Heck yeah!” cheers Guang-hong. “Let’s go.”

They easily slide back into the crowd, getting separated quickly in the throng of moving people. Distantly, Yuuri can see Chris’s sparkly head of blonde hair bobbing, but the other two are far too short to be seen.

No, he realizes, the reason he can see Chris so clearly is that the floor is slowly clearing around him, and it looks like he’s gesturing wildly at a man with a…long silver pole. Oh god, thinks Yuuri. The man is going to pole dance, and if he knows anything about Chris, it’s that Yuuri _will_ get dragged into doing it somehow.

He looks around wildly for a bathroom to escape into, hoping that his dark head of hair and average height will hide him in the crowd.

“Oh shit,” he mutters, feeling at his hair with one hand. The hand comes away sparkling. “The fucker put glitter on me.”

At least he’s wearing shorts, he muses, pulling at the black spandex underneath to make sure his ass isn’t sticking out. Suddenly, Chris materializes in front of him, shoving a glass into his hand.

“How’re you doing, professional pole dancer?”

Yuuri wraps his hand tightly around the glass and then downs it.

Then, he squeezes his way to the bar, orders two more drinks, and downs those, too.

“Give me ten,” he says to Chris, who he discovers is nowhere near him. “Oops.” Something or someone in his head tells him that pole-dancing with a…a co-worker, especially one with special connections to his boss, is a terrible idea. The six or so drinks in his system tell him that it’s a wonderful idea.

Guang-hong soon joins him by the bar, watching as Chris mounts the pole. Phichit is probably videotaping this, a fact that Morning After Yuuri will deeply come to regret.

Yuuri can say, with absolute certainty, that Chris has either taken pole-dancing courses or does it on a regular basis. The man is _good_. Not I’ll-do-this-for-a-living-good like Yuuri is, but to a bystander, Chris would look pretty damn amazing.

He’s content to watch as the alcohol he’s just consumed makes its way into his bloodstream, fuzzing over his mind. The last thing he remembers is stalking up to the pole and grabbing it with both hands, winking up at Chris.

* * *

 

“I should’ve stopped you,” says Phichit, holding Yuuri’s hand for emotional support. “I’m sorry.” He does not look sorry at all. If anything, he looks gleeful, clutching his phone like it holds all the answers in the world.

Yuuri makes a string of unintelligible noises.

“Water?” Phichit snags a water carton from the kitchen and pads back over to Yuuri’s bedroom. “Here.”

He tries to drink out of it, but his mind refuses to accept that it’s a carton and not a plastic water bottle. Yuuri promptly spills water all over his sheets.

“Fuck,” he says, the first coherent word he’s managed to produce since he woke up.

“Jesus,” says Phichit, wiping up the small spill with paper towels. “You’re such a mess.”

“Not used to this,” Yuuri says, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. “Haven’t drunk in a while.”

“I _told_ you to stick to the fruity shit.”

Yuuri just groans, flopping back down from his sitting position. “Let me die.”

“I think you had enough to knock out a small elephant.”

“I wish I were dead.”

“Do you want to see the videos?”

Yuuri contemplates watching himself probably twirl around on a piece of metal with Christophe Giacometti.

“No. Can I be dead now?”

Phichit laughs, but there’s an unmistakable guilty ring in it. Yuuri rises back out of his covers like a zombie coming out of the grave. Despite his hangover, he knows what that laugh means, and it means something bad has happened to one of them.

“Phichit,” he says urgently, grabbing his friend’s hand. “Tell me.”

“Nothing’s wrong!” Phichit all but yells, snatching his hand away. In all his years, Yuuri has rarely seen Phichit lose his composure like this.

“Are you okay?”

For a moment, Phichit falters. “Uh…me? Yeah, I’m peachy.”

Fuck. That’s it. The big problem is something involving Yuuri, and he doesn’t know what it is.

“Please tell me,” he pleads, ignoring the throbbing in his head and the horrid rotten taste in his mouth. “I need to know what I’m going into. You know I can’t deal with surprises.”

Phichit frowns, clearly thinking about it. After all, he rarely keeps things from his best friend, and Yuuri has been through a lot of problems involving miscommunication. “Okay, but after you feel better. I’m not going to drop it on you now.”

The way he says it makes Yuuri more nervous as he throws aside the covers and reluctantly goes to take a shower and wash up. Belatedly, he realizes he should have snatched his phone from where it’s charging on his nightstand.

He towels himself dry after the shower and slips on some comfy clothes, head still feeling like the aftermath of a stampede of elephants. Digging through the cabinets, he slips on his glasses and pulls out a bottle of painkillers. Unscrewing the cap takes a lot more focus than he has, so he marches out and hands it to Phichit.

“Here,” Phichit says, handing him two pills and the water carton.

Yuuri glares at the water carton but takes it reluctantly. “Are you going to tell me now?”

“Yeah,” sighs Phichit. “There’s no way to break it to you, but…” Wordlessly, he hands his phone to Yuuri, a video already playing.

He presses the volume-up button several times only to hear the same pounding music from the club last night. That’s definitely Phichit’s yelling in the background of the video, but what’s most startling is the pole that both Chris and Yuuri are hanging off of.

“Oh god,” Yuuri says. “I let him convince me into this, didn’t I?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Not really…” He only remembers introducing Chris to his friends and vague flashing memories of strobe lights and music.

“You downed like four drinks and then hopped right up on the pole. Chris was pretty pleased.”

There’s silence from Yuuri, who’s still watching himself do fantastically complex moves on the pole – while drunk – until a flash of silver hair cuts in the edge of the video.

“Amazing!” the voice chirps, in a frighteningly familiar tone.

Yuuri tosses the phone at Phichit, hitting him square in the chest. “What the fuck!” he screams, fists clenching because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands. “Who was that?”

“You should watch the rest of the video,” Phichit says, picking up his phone from where it landed on the bed. “It might be cathartic.”

“It’s a catastrophe!” Yuuri lets out a strangled groan. “I wish I were _dead_.”

“Well…” Phichit hums and swipes around on his video gallery. “There’s _this_ one, where you’re engaging in a very, very good dance-off with–”

“Don’t say his name,” hisses Yuuri. “I’m going to pop a vein and die if you say it.”

“–with He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named,” finishes Phichit. “But seriously Yuuri, from an outsider’s perspective, you’re so freaking good at dance.”

“Don’t start,” Yuuri warns.

“I know it’s hard, but someday I think you should try and go for competition again.”

“I don’t want to,” says Yuuri, sulking. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine,” says Phichit. “At least watch this video though.”

The video is awful in two ways. First, because Yuuri is acting like a drunken fool in front of his _boss_ , and second because said boss looks amazing in casual clothing.

“How dare his legs be long?” he whispers, eyes glued to the screen. “How dare he have perfect proportions?”

Phichit, stifling a laugh, just crawls across Yuuri’s bed to watch the video with him. “He tried to dance back but you destroyed him,” he notes. “You didn’t even give him breathing room.”

“That’s so embarrassing,” says Yuuri, with a tiny, minuscule hint of pride in his voice. It’s true. Victor, although probably a decent dancer, is left completely in the dust by Yuuri, standing back eventually to just watch.

“You won the dance-off.”

“Of course I did.”

“You said whoever won got to ask the loser a question, and he would have to answer truthfully.”

“Please don’t say I asked for his measurements.”

“You didn’t,” Phichit quickly reassures. “But you did ask…” He pulls up another video.

_“Do you have a poodle?!” drunken Yuuri screeches shrilly in Victor’s face. “I have a poodle!”_

_Victor just nods, with a completely enamored look on his face. “Yeah,” he says, just loud enough for the video to catch it. “I have a poodle.”_

“He has a poodle,” hungover Yuuri says, twin enamored look sliding onto his face. “That’s so fucking disgusting. That’s so fucking cute. I wonder what his poodle’s name is.”

“It’s Makkachin,” Phichit says. “After the dance-off, you guys talked a little. But I don’t have a video of it.”

“Fuck,” Yuuri groans. “And I don’t remember any of it. He probably expects me to remember all of it.”

Phichit opens his mouth and then closes it. “Check Instagram,” he finally settles on.

Yuuri does, to find several notifications, more than he usually has. _v-nikiforov has sent you a follow request_.

“Private account?” he asks.

“Yeah. His finsta.”

“Stop using slang I don’t recognize,” Yuuri grumbles, but presses ‘accept’ on the follow request, sending one back instantaneously. He’s still so embarrassed that his face is permanently red, but if Victor still wants to follow him, it can’t be that bad.

“I’m in,” says Yuuri two minutes later, adjusting his glasses after Victor accepts his follow request.

Victor has over 2000 posts and just under a hundred followers on his private Instagram, and from what Yuuri can see, it’s mostly of his poodle.

“He’s so cute,” mutters Yuuri, clicking on a video. Both Victor and Makkachin are curled up on the couch, and the poodle barks at the camera before trying to lick at it. Yuuri’s poor heart can’t take it anymore, and he exits out of the video.

Victor’s most recent post, though, is a selfie with Chris, Yuuri, Phichit, Guang-hong, and himself, captioned with, “Had an awesome night with these four!”

“He’s not angry,” Yuuri notes. “Maybe he won’t fire me.”

“Of course he won’t fire you, Yuuri,” Phichit says, snickering into the palm of his hand. “He’s in love with you.”

“Dude, bro, he’s not in love with me.”

“Bro,” Phichit mocks, “he’s totally in love with you. Have you seen his face?”

“Yeah, and it’s gorgeous,” Yuuri retorts. He looks through the thirteen comments, mentally thanking every spiritual being in existence that somehow, Victor Nikiforov, famous CEO, has let Yuuri be one of the ninety-seven people that follow him.

He scrolls past Chris’s lewd comments, blushing, until he sees Phichit’s comment, just a string of winking faces. Yuuri contemplates it for a moment but taps out a like on it.

“Thanks, bro,” says Phichit, looking at his own phone. “He DM-ed me yesterday asking for your username, so I just gave it to him. Hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s not like I have any photos up,” says Yuuri, who really only has one post, a two-year-old picture of Vicchan playing at the beach.

A little red notification pops up.

_sooo cute‼ ^^ see u at work tomorrow!_

Yuuri stares, a little incredulous, at the username beside it. _v-nikiforov_. “He said ‘see you at work,’ Phichit. That’s got to be a good sign.”

“And he called you cute!” squeals Phichit. “That’s so embarrassing for him, dude, he liked and commented on a two-year-old photo! Stalker much?”

“It’s Vicchan. If he didn’t like it, I’d be offended.”

“He called you cute.”

“Not me, Vicchan.”

“Same thing,” Phichit assures.

Yuuri shoots him a flat look. “Excuse me.”

Phichit hops off the bed. “I’m going for lunch with Seung-gil in half an hour, so I’ve got to get ready. Text if you need me.”

“Will do.” Yuuri reclines back into his pillows, clutching his phone with his heart pounding. A slow feeling of dread builds up in his gut as Phichit closes the door behind him. It’s irrational, but he still fears that he may get fired, or that his reputation is tarnished forever. Worse yet, Victor and Chris may both realize that he isn’t the confident, glowing dancer they met last night. He’s just Yuuri, a regular old nobody who suffers from awful stage fright.

Later that night, as he tries and fails to fall asleep, he runs through a million situations in his head of how work might go. None of them comfort him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> queenjisoo.tumblr.com/post/165775662076/she-has-no-mercy


	5. yuuri can't believe he exists

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey warning yuuri has some (more) physical dissociation this chapter and its (more) serious
> 
> also thank u all for the poll answers;; sorry it took me so long to update!! i've been hecka busy 
> 
> if u look hard enough at this chapter u may find some of the directions i'm trying to pull this story based on the poll! so yeah have fun remember that this story has no plot because i'm a fuckup so don't expect too much out of it.

Yuuri blinks, hard. He knows someone has just asked him a question, and he is supposed to be answering. Unfortunately, his brain-to-mouth system refuses to work. 

“…yeah?” he says, hands fluttering about uselessly. He doesn’t know where to put them, or where the voices are coming from.

“…really?” The word crystallizes, drawing his attention back to Victor. Right.

Victor is speaking to him, and his face is strangely close. Yuuri shakes his head and pulls his glasses up, wiping them on his shirt.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He stomps back into his office and makes sure to close the door a smidge harder than he usually does, because he doesn’t want Victor to follow.

And despite Victor’s usual inability to decipher human emotions, he seems to understand what that signal means. He doesn’t follow.

* * *

  _earlier_

After arriving to work, he spends the entire day trying not to imagine Victor’s gaze on the side of his face. What kind of memories would run through Victor’s head?

It becomes concerning enough that he gets asked if he’s okay five times through the course of the morning, most notably by Chris, who winks and wonders if it’s the result of his Saturday night. Yuuri says it isn’t (it is).

Even Leo, who gets off work early to hang out with Guang-hong but _still_ makes Yuuri his favorite coffee while on break, loses his cheerful countenance upon seeing him.

“Dude, is something going on?”

“Yeah, Yuuri, are you okay?” says Guang-hong concernedly, acting much nicer to him now that Leo’s watching.

Yuuri stares at Guang-hong. It’s kind of incredible that nothing in his life is matching up today. First, he actually fucks up his relationship with his boss, and now his snarky friend is being nice.

“Hey,” he says loudly, crossing his arms. “Dude. Hey. You're being really weird.” Guang-hong is throwing his universe out of order, and it doesn't sit well with him at all. 

Guang-hong says something, but there’s a strong physical detachment from his body that’s stopping Yuuri from listening.

“…yeah,” Yuuri answers. “Listen, I gotta go. Bye.” He hightails it out of the café with his coffee sloshing, and tries to ignore Leo’s confused calls of his name.

Thirty minutes later, Victor himself tries to ask if Yuuri’s okay, right outside of his office. He tries to answer, then slams the door in Victor’s face. Oops.

He’s too afraid that Victor will try and bring up his drunk shenanigans from Saturday, so he staunchly refuses to apologize.

* * *

Yuuri has never had to send an email to Victor. Usually, he communicates face-to-face, like a regular human being. Unfortunately, he’s very incapable of being a regular human being today.

He chews on his bottom lip and fidgets with the mouse, trying to get the courage to press the send button.

“I have to do it right now,” he says to himself. “It’s an important, timely issue.” Someone has deleted all of Victor’s scheduled meetings on the online calendar from noon to six. It’s a huge problem. Yuuri’s problem.

Letting out a quick scream to destress, he squeezes his eyes shut and presses the send button. No more than three minutes later, Victor pounds on his office door, yelling his name.

“It’s not locked!” screams Yuuri back, frozen and suddenly feeling like every limb in his body is too heavy to pick up.

“Open the door!” yells Victor again.

Yuuri struggles, but can’t get out of his chair. It’s not a physical problem. He…can’t. “It’s unlocked,” he says again, quieter.

The door clicks open. “I didn’t want to come in without permission,” explains Victor, who looks pretty stressed.

“I’m sorry about the calendar,” says Yuuri, on the verge of tears. “It wasn’t me.”

“Of course not,” says Victor, affronted. “It was me. I deleted all of them.”

“You _can’t_ ,” refutes Yuuri with feeling. “It was the big meeting with Celestino and the board members. And lots of other small ones. How can you miss all of those?”

“I _can_ ,” Victor says. “I’m the CEO. Now stand up and let’s go.”

“I have work.”

“I’m your boss. You don’t have work.”

Yuuri shoots him a look and then visibly drags his gaze over to the two large stacks of paperwork.

“Okay,” says Victor. He lifts a stack in each hand and then throws them into the recycling bin stationed by the door. “No more work. Let’s go.”

Yuuri doesn’t move. He doesn’t even know what’s happening.

“C’mon,” urges Victor again, rather impatiently. He waves a hand in front of Yuuri’s face and tosses a bunch of restaurant pamphlets onto his chest. “Where do you want to go for lunch?”

He blinks, hard, and finally stands up. “Anywhere, I guess.”

“Pick a place,” his boss insists, flicking silver hair out of his pretty eyes. “ _Hurry,_ Yuuri.”

Stepping out from behind his desk, causing all the pamphlets to go cascading onto the floor, he wracks his brain for a good choice that won’t upset Victor or be too obviously cheap. “Uh…” Yuuri picks up a random pamphlet. “This one’s fine.”

“Ooh, expensive,” teases Victor, snatching the paper and looking through the printed menu. “High-maintenance, aren’t you?”

Yuuri flushes and grabs the menu back, eyes wide at the prices. “I didn’t know-!”

“That’s alright.” Victor pulls on the edge of Yuuri’s sleeve and skips out the door, humming a cheery tune. “I’ll pay. I’m rich, you know.”

“I know,” Yuuri grumbles. “Believe me, I know.”

They hop into Victor’s car down in the parking garage and head off to the relatively close restaurant. Yuuri learns that Victor drives like an absolute maniac.

“The speed limit is thirty-five!” he yells, hands desperately grasping at the overhand handle.

“There aren’t even any cars,” says Victor dismissively, pressing on the accelerator harder. He throws the wheel to the right to make a turn, all of the contents of the car sliding hard to the left, including Yuuri, whose head hits Victor’s arm jarringly.

Victor looks down and smiles, and for a moment, Yuuri is entranced. Then he snaps out of it. “Keep your fucking eyes on the road!” he gripes, genuinely fearful for his life.

“Wow, Yuuri,” says Victor, delighted. “Swearing at your boss?”

“Oh my fuck, I’m sorry,” Yuuri says, mortified. “I mean, I’m just sorry.”

“Nice to meet you, Just Sorry. I’m Victor.”

Yuuri claps a hand over his face. “Please just be quiet.”

The other man hums in agreement and shoots the speed up to seventy miles an hour.

“We’re here!” he announces, making another wildly fast turn into the parking lot, nearly hitting a car trying to leave. It’s the first car Yuuri’s seen since they got on the road.

“Please value your own life a bit more.”

“I’d _never_ put your life in danger, Yuuri,” assures Victor earnestly, blue eyes shining. “You’re magical.”

Yuuri blinks several times and then rolls with it. “Okay.”

Victor seems satisfied with that, so he leads the way into the restaurant, greeting the man at the front desk with a wave. Yuuri scuttles by, trying to follow Victor down the maze of decadent corridors, appearing as small as possible.

“You know him?”

“Yeah,” says Victor. “I come here pretty often, actually. It’s really private.”

“No paparazzi?” Yuuri asks mockingly, pretending to peer around the deserted hallway for a sign of cameras.

“Yeah,” repeats Victor, sighing. “I don’t really like attention.”

“Really,” Yuuri mutters. “Could’ve had me fooled.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

They enter into a room already set up perfectly for lunch, plates and knives and spoons and more spoons and...even more spoons placed neatly on the table. A server is waiting in the corner.

“Hello Mr. Nikiforov,” the server says. His nametag reads ‘Emil.’

“Hi Emil! This is Yuuri Katsuki, my friend,” Victor says.

Yuuri slips into his seat, wondering if Victor’s calling him a friend just to be nice, or if they’re actually friends.

“Hello Mr. Katsuki. I’ll be your server for today.”

“Uh, hey.”

Victor quickly orders drinks and appetizers, and Yuuri just lets him do it so that he doesn’t have to see the price and feel bad about everything. After Emil leaves, Victor leans forward and places his elbows on the table.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m taking you to lunch and also out for the rest of the day,” starts Victor.

“Uh, yeah.”

“I want to know how you’re doing,” continues Victor, staring at Yuuri with a concentrated look. “I’m very invested in the wellbeing of my employees.”

Yuuri deflates slightly. Oh, so it was just about being an employee. Not friends, or anything? The moment he’d found out Victor Nikiforov was owner of a cute poodle, he had been ready to be BFFs. What a letdown.

“I’m doing fine,” he says. “Is the work not up to par?”

Victor flushes a little bit, for absolutely no reason, since Yuuri is clearly the embarrassing one in this equation. “No, no! You’re doing great. But how do you _feel_? Like…stressed? Like you want to cut loose?”

Yuuri hesitates. “Well, I guess it’d be nice to have a vending machine in my office.” God, what is he _saying_? What _can_ he say? The truth about being utterly intimidated by his own boss and feeling like a fuckup all the time?

“Done,” says Victor immediately. “Anything else?”

Fidgeting with his hands underneath the table, he considers bringing up Saturday. He really wants to clear the air, but at the same time, if Victor isn’t going to bring it up, then neither will he.

“No,” he finally answers. “I’m good.”

They sit in silence for a few more minutes, Victor scrutinizing the hell out of Yuuri’s face, before Emil comes in with two glasses of ice water and a tray of appetizers.

“Ah!” Victor says, “I forgot. Would you like any wine?”

“No,” Yuuri replies curtly. “I’m not a fan of being drunk.”

“Really? I’ll keep that in mind.” Victor seems to smile at him derisively before turning his attention to the appetizers. “Ooh, this looks so good.”

Yuuri has no idea what any of the dishes are called or what the mystery substances on them are, so he just picks one and pokes at it with his fork.

“Oh, that’s–”

Yuuri tunes out as Victor lists a complicated sounding French name.

“Oh,” he says dully. He’s probably the most boring lunch partner Victor’s ever had. He rests his face in his hand as Victor rattles off all the other names.

Surprisingly, the appetizers _are_ really good, despite how they look. There’s one that’s raw beef, seared and then frozen.

“I had this one first in Nicaragua when I went to visit!” says Victor excitedly. “This is the only place around that serves it just as good as the first time.”

The ceviche is amazing too, and so is the weird sauce that goes along with the grilled shrimp.

Good food opens Yuuri up a little, and he ends up chatting with Victor about mundane things. He likes learning about Victor, and he likes knowing more about the mysterious CEO that he’d only previously read about in various tabloids.

“Can I see pictures of Makkachin?” he asks shyly, crossing his fingers under the table.

“Of course!” Victor takes out his phone right there and then, swiping through what seems like an entire gallery of poodle photos.

Yuuri is in love.

“Watch this video,” Victor encourages excitedly. “Hurry, hurry. It’s so cute. Makkachin is so cute.”

Yuuri takes the phone and hands Victor a video of Vicchan, who’s wearing a skeleton costume. “This was for Halloween last year.”

They watch the videos, gasping at all the cute parts.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

Yuuri looks up to see Victor’s eyes shining, corners of his lips turned up into a dimpled smile. He almost reaches his hand up to touch Victor’s cheek but tightens his fist just in time to stop himself. ‘You’re the best thing I’ve ever seen,’ he wants to say. The words don’t come. He swallows past a strangled lump in his throat. “Thanks,” he finally replies. He hands back the phone and then stuffs his mouth full of the entrée so he doesn’t have to talk.

Victor, oblivious to Yuuri’s struggle, closes his mouth around a forkful of salad and continues to hunt for Makkachin photos. “I’m so happy you have a poodle too,” he says. “Will you post more on Instagram?”

“Yes,” says Yuuri. “I don’t see Vicchan very much, though. I left him at home when I went to college.”

“That’s a pity.” Victor frowns. “You have to visit your dog lots. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

“I guess. But I don’t have very much time to visit home.” He sighs and eats another bite of fish. “Vicchan is not young, but he’s not too old, either.”

“My Makkachin is getting old,” says Victor, clearly down at the thought. “I try to spend as much time with her as possible. But you know…I have a lot of work.”

Of course. Victor is a CEO. Yuuri shouldn’t even be complaining about being busy, not sitting across Victor, who has taken off the entire afternoon just to hang out with his secretary.

“Thanks,” he says suddenly. “By the way. For taking me to lunch today.”

“Anytime,” Victor says seriously. “Just tell me if you’re having an off-day.”

Yuuri wants to mention that almost all his days are off-days, but decides not to be the party-pooper. “You too.”

Victor hums and grins, patting Yuuri’s hand gently. “Where do you want to go after this?”

“Where do _you_ want to go?” Yuuri counters.

Wrong question. Half an hour later, they’re once again back in the Hell Car of Death, zooming down the highway at about ninety miles per hour.

“Woo-hoo!” cheers Victor, one hand thrown out the window carelessly.

Yuuri grips onto his knees, casually reevaluating his entire life. “Where are we going again?”

“Shopping,” the driver cries, letting go of the wheel momentarily to crank the volume up on the radio.

Yuuri has a sudden sense of déjà vu as he again notices that there are no cars around them at all. He twists around in his seat and then sees a squadron of metallic black cars far behind them, leading a group of honking, braking cars.

“Oh my god,” he says, and throws his face into his hands for the nth time today. “You need bodyguards to make sure you don’t hit anyone.”

“I never took driver’s ed,” Victor says, shrugging. “Yakov just got me this license and I ran with it.”

“You _what_?”

“Hey, don’t worry. Red is stop and green is go.”

“Fuck me,” whispers Yuuri disbelievingly. “Who are you?”

“Chill, chill. I got this.”

“You’re on the line,” hisses Yuuri as the car goes over a series of small bumps, jostling the passengers up and down. Victor turns the wheel the other way, but they’re going so fast that it throws the car wildly over to the leftmost lane.

“Let me drive,” begs Yuuri.

Victor shrugs and steps on the brake, bringing the car to a screeching stop. Yuuri runs out and makes the switch as fast as possible so that he doesn’t further impede traffic.

“Tell your bodyguards that they can go,” Yuuri says. “I can drive. Also, give me the address.”

Victor tells him the street of the shopping mall they’re going to, and then calls his bodyguards. Two minutes later, cars are zooming past again, shooting Yuuri dirty looks.

“Wow, you drive so smooth,” Victor says, marveling at the way Yuuri does a swift lane change to the exit only lane.

“Everyone drives like this, Victor.”

They reach the mall shortly, and Yuuri parks with great effort in one of the parking lots, slotted between two of Victor’s bodyguards.

“De-stress shopping!” shouts Victor as he runs towards the big entrance. Yuuri huffs and puffs after, sliding through the automatic doors just as he views Victor rounding the corner towards a big department store.

He sighs and follows. For a moment he thinks, really thinks, that he might be having fun. “Wait!” he yells, chasing the silver head. Victor stops and turns around, holding out his hand.

Yuuri takes it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey if u dont hc that victor is shit at driving who r u


	6. yuuri goes home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one is short! i've been busy and i'll try and update more frequently :)

Blinking bleary eyes at the clock at four in the morning has, unfortunately, turned into a new trend for Victor. He pushes back his blankets and tugs on sweatpants, grasping for his thin-rimmed glasses with the other hand.

Groaning, he pads to the bathroom and washes up, staring in dismay at the frayed toothbrush. He tosses it into the trash.

When he was little, he’d liked waking up extra early just to be the only one up. He had enjoyed having the whole house to himself and his books, but now, his apartment just feels stuffy and lonely. It’s even worse in winter, when it gets chilly.

The office will be locked until six, so he still has almost two hours to wait.

Victor unplugs the company cellphone from the wall and thinks about time zones. He could do some work, technically, since it isn’t four-thirty A.M. everywhere. Then, he remembers Chris telling him to ‘take a chill pill once in a while and relax.’

“No work,” he says aloud to himself. He plugs the phone back in, fingers shaking. Maybe he should get his fingers checked out – his hand has been shaking more often than not whenever he’s not resting it. Victor contemplates that for a bit, but then returns his attention to the company phone, glaring at it with a vengeance.

“It sucks that you’re the most attractive thing in my life,” he decides angrily, keeping a fixed stare at the device. “I need a new life.” Sighing, he unplugs the phone again and goes to check his notes for the number of the French stakeholder he had been planning to contact.

He works for an hour, drinking lots of honeyed tea in between calls to sooth his scratchy morning voice. At five-thirty, he grabs his keys and all of his files for work, and drives to the Starbucks that’s a block away from his building. The baristas there don’t know him, because he usually just gets his coffee from the café in the building’s lobby, and the coffee is inarguably worse. Victor doesn’t even really like the taste of dark roast coffee, but he’s been drinking it straight for years. Something about drinking something really gross and bitter every morning makes him feel like life is worth living.

By eight, his company’s employees are mostly all present; whenever he steps outside his office, he hears chit-chatting and the daily transactions of office work. Chris, his best friend, makes it a point to ride the elevator all the way up to greet him every morning, and Yuuri Katsuki, his secretary, thinks it’s part of his job description to say hi every morning. (It’s not, but Victor doesn’t mind.)

Speaking of Yuuri, it should be the time he usually makes a mad dash to the elevator to get his fourth cup of coffee in two hours. Victor swings open his heavy doors to see, indeed, Yuuri blurring past him like a vision.

“Bye-bye!” he waves and calls after him, watching him go.

Predictably, Yuuri returns after less than five minutes, clutching a paper cup and breathing hard.

“Good coffee?” asks Victor.

“Yeah,” Yuuri replies breathlessly, adjusting his glasses with the hand not holding the cup.

Victor takes a moment to reflect that he’d been standing outside his office for the better part of five minutes waiting for his secretary to get back from a coffee break, just to ask, “Good coffee?”

“Actually,” he amends, “I have a task for you.”

“Really? What is it?”

Victor wracks his brain for something Yuuri can do that he’s not already doing. “…can you get me a coffee?”

Yuuri shoots him an exasperated look, which he totally deserves. “This is your third,” he chastises gently.

“Fourth,” Victor says abruptly, regretting it immediately. “I, uh, had one before work.”

“No,” says Yuuri. “No more coffee. Go work.”

“I’m your boss!”

“I’m your secretary,” replies Yuuri. “And? What’s up?”

“I’m the CEO!”

“Yeah, you’re the CEO and not a five-year-old kid.”

“ _Sick_ burn,” Jean-Jacques yells as he…roller-skates down the hallway.

“Take those off immediately!” Yuuri calls back. “You’re going to get hurt.”

“You sound like such a mom,” Victor notes, laughing. Well, he’s not going to disobey a direct order from Yuuri. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Good.” Yuuri frowns, adjusting his glasses again. “Don’t forget your lunch date at noon.”

“Lunch date?”

“With Celestino.”

“Oh, good. I thought Yakov was setting me up with another corporate heir.”

“Does he do that, you know, a lot? Frequently?”

Victor taps a finger on his lip, thinking back to the last time Yakov had called him with an offer. “Not anymore. I told him to stop. They were nice girls, but I wasn’t interested.”

“In…girls? Or them?” Immediately, Yuuri flushes a deep red all the way from the top of his head to his chest, obscured by his T-shirt. “Sorry to, uh, presume.”

“Neither. Both.” Victor waves his hand airily, suddenly hit with the urge to check if Yuuri’s really blushing underneath his shirt. He resists the urge.

Yuuri raises one judgmental eyebrow, but probably decides that he’s better off not word-vomiting again and doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll see you later, then, Yuuri?”

“Yeah. I think.”

They wave cheerfully at each other and then head back into their offices.

Yuuri Katsuki is one of the strangest people Victor has ever had the pleasure of meeting. Victor had immediately been dazzled by Yuuri’s eccentricity, ever since that fateful interview. Then, he’d turned out to be nothing like anything Victor had been expecting. Some of that sly personality still leaked through, but Yuuri had been shy, rather meek, yet still captivating.

Then, the club. That had been the time of Victor’s life. He’d been just slightly buzzed, enough to enjoy himself.

He still thinks about that day sometimes, but he’s not a shitty human being and knows that bringing it up would probably make Yuuri run away and quit the job promptly, and that’s something he can’t have.

Whistling, Victor plops into his office chair and spins a few times before settling down to get some work done for his next meeting. He does find work _interesting_ , to say the least. But recently, he’s been finding it more enjoyable than ever, because the routine has changed.

What a welcome surprise.

* * *

At three thirty, Yuuri gets a call, phone silently vibrating on top of his desk. Mari’s name flashes on the screen, which is strange, because she usually knows not to call Yuuri while he’s at work.

“Maybe she got the time zones switched up?” he wonders, declining the call. He’ll call back – Mari’s known for calling him about stupid memes she’s encountered on the internet or pictures of cute boys she finds on Instagram.

Mari calls back again, with more insistence. Four or five texts pop up on the screen, but Yuuri just sighs and turns his phone off. No meme is more important than showing his boss that he’s a competent human being, unfortunately.

The vibrating stops as his phone shuts off, and Yuuri clicks despondently at the web browser, suddenly wishing Victor would burst in and throw all his paperwork in the trash again. Unfortunately, the important merger forms had been in the stack that last time, and Celestino, the elder and more experienced CEO of the two companies, had chastised Victor for being careless with the copies. Victor had said he didn’t really care about that, but Yuuri had _definitely_ cared – he still thinks about it sometimes. When brushing his teeth, or eating breakfast, or buying coffee…he’ll remember Celestino’s gently disappointed tone and immediately turn bright red.

Yuuri makes a sound akin to a dying whale and grabs his pen resolutely. “I’m going to fucking finish this,” he grits out between clenched teeth.  

For the next hour, he scribbles furiously, throwing paper after paper into the completed pile. He’s efficient and he knows it – the skill comes from years of balancing a nearly perfect GPA with hours of grueling dance practice, on top of attending various competitions. At one point in his life, he could be found hanging out in the dance studio, legs stretched out in perfect splits and flipping with concentration through a calculus textbook.

Yuuri still thinks that the right thing to do is to work hard while young and sprightly and then enjoy his life when he’s older and content. Meeting Phichit had turned that around slightly, but Yuuri _has to trust_ that all the blood, sweat, and tears expended now will yield something, anything better than this.

It gets better than this, he thinks, almost violently stabbing his pen into a sheaf of paper. That’s what his high school counselor had told him to tell himself. After that awful and unhelpful first session, he’d never returned, and he had been too scared to ask his ‘mental-illness-is-fake’ traditional Asian parents for a better therapist.

Not that he needs one now. In a few months, it’ll be fall and he’ll be finishing up his education degree. His life will hopefully slot into place after he fills out some applications for some dance studios; this job pays pretty well so complete financial independence from his parents, no matter how much he loves them, will no longer be a pipe dream.

Phichit had been right. Applying for this job, although the interview process was majorly fucked, had been a good idea.

“Break,” he says suddenly into the empty room, throwing his pen down. He picks it back up and places it properly into the pen-holder. Luckily, the elevator is empty as he rides all the way down to the first floor, where the café is open. There are a couple of small restaurants located in or around the office building for lunch, that probably are still serving food, but Yuuri prefers the small Starbucks. Leo is so kind. So nice. Leo takes all the stress off of his day.

“Chocolate pound-cake please,” he chirps, credit card in hand. He _deserves_ this treat. Just last weekend he’d put in hours on the pole – he can still feel the soreness in his thighs and forearms.

“Sure thing,” says Leo, ringing it up while his coworker bags the treat for Yuuri. A few software engineers dressed in casual wear just like Yuuri sit at the tables chatting, but otherwise the café is empty. Yuuri likes it this way, when he can pretend like he isn’t out-dressed and out-classed in every possible way by the other employees.

Biting into the delicious pastry, he waves a hello to Otabek and heads back up in the elevator.

* * *

The phone nearly vibrates out of his hands the moment he turns it on after work, back at home.

“Dude,” shouts Phichit from his room. “What the fuck.”

The vibrating continues for a good three seconds longer, until Phichit himself comes out of his room to investigate.

“They’re all from Mari,” Yuuri says breathlessly. “Wait, never mind. My parents called me nineteen times. And…Yuuko. And Minako. What the hell.”

“I guess something important happened,” offers Phichit, sitting down. “I hope it’s good news. Maybe Yuuko's going to have quadruplets this time.” Yuuri winces at the thought of more hell-spawn. 

“I’ll just call,” decides Yuuri. “Texting each one of them would take too long.”

Phichit watches as Yuuri speed-dials his mom, fingers tapping nervously on the edge of the kitchen chair. Yuuri hasn’t been home in years – maybe once or twice at most for college breaks the first couple years of college. Both of them know that even if his parents were to ask him to come home now, while he’s not studying, Yuuri would probably decline.

His mom picks up on the second ring. “Hello? What is it? — Okay, sorry, I was at work. — Yeah, just tell me. I’ll be fine — yeah Mom —” And then Yuuri’s face crumples all at once, at the same time his body visibly sags back into his chair. “Are you serious? — No, yeah, I’ll book a ticket as soon as possible. Don’t let him — don’t let him go before I get there. Bye — yeah — yeah — okay. Bye.”

With a deep sigh, Yuuri ends the call, rubbing at his eyes wearily. They sit in a silence for a while, Phichit waiting patiently for his friend to gather his bearings. The overhead light flickers a couple times and then goes out. “Fuck,” mutters Phichit, looking up at the light, almost missing Yuuri’s next words.

“Phichit, I’m going home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sh-she got bangs....end my life goddess   
> https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DPkZwPMUQAAeOVA.jpg


	7. yuuri loves vicchan with all his heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dudes im sorry this took so long but junior year is a bitch 
> 
> also!! idk if it warrants a warning but there's talk of amputation in this chapter especially in the last scene

Yuuri doesn’t come to work for an entire week. Victor finds himself asking other executives’ secretaries to set up meetings for him, now aware of the massive workload Yuuri had been carrying the entire time.

He bugs Phichit on social media, but the boy won’t tell him what’s up. Hands shaking with stress, he even asks Chris to check his gossip circles for news, because all he knows is that Yuuri had needed a last minute week-long break for a “family emergency.”

“Sorry,” says Chris, gripping his phone tightly. “I couldn’t find anything. It must be very private.”

Will Yuuri even tell him after he returns? Are they close enough for that? Despite being a CEO, despite being scarily wealthy, despite being conventionally attractive, Victor finds himself attacked with self-doubt.

“Get a grip,” he mutters to himself. Whatever Yuuri’s going through must be ten times worse.

He’s not exactly wrong.

* * *

“Is he still here?” is the first thing Yuuri asks when he sees Mari waiting for him at the airport late in the afternoon.

She rubs her eyes tiredly and motion for him to come on, so he breaks into a run, suitcase bumping behind him. “Yeah, but it’s not looking good. He might have to get his leg amputated…if he even lives.”

Yuuri nearly collapses at how real it sounds from her mouth, but doesn’t truly process it until he steps into the veterinarian’s office, and the doctor leads them to Vicchan’s bed. The poodle is flopped awkwardly on one side, stiff white bandages restricting the brown curls.

He can feel the tears forming already.

“It looks so bad,” he all but whimpers, one hand reaching out to pet the patches of fur that are exposed.

“The car really did a number on him,” Mari says gently, voice raw with exhaustion. “I should have had him on a leash but you know he usually doesn’t need one…”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Mom and I already had that talk.”

“Good.”

The vet runs through each of the injuries, stopping to state which ones are the really critical ones. It’s mostly internal bleeding that’s the life-threatening issue, not the shattered leg or torn ear.

“And what are the chances he survives?”

“One in five. Not awful, considering the injuries he has sustained.”

Yuuri turns to his sister. “What’s the cost?”

“Don’t worry about it. Mom and Dad paid it.”

“Can you guys afford it?”

“We might have to take out a loan if Vicchan stays here much longer or gets the leg surgery.”

And Yuuri is tired from the plane, and tired because he hasn’t even unpacked or gone home yet, but his mind is clear enough to know that he has to pay somehow. It’s what he should do as a son and as a good human being. God bless Phichit for making him take the secretary job, because without it he would have nowhere near enough to cover these costs. Even with the job, he’ll have to ask Victor for a raise or something when he gets back in order to be able to pay rent and pay for Vicchan’s medical expenses.

“I’m paying.”

Mari sighs. “I knew you were going to say that. And I know I should argue, but we both know Mom and Dad can’t suffer the financial strain anymore. So, I’m just going to say thank you.”

“It’s nothing.”

“You have enough?”

“Barely. I took a new job. That’s why I couldn’t pick up.”

His sister hums in acknowledgement and turns back to Vicchan. “Time to say goodbye,” she reminds Yuuri, who immediately looks pained. “We’ll come back again tomorrow.”

There’s nothing that’s been as hard as leaving Vicchan alone, barely alive, curled to look small on the little doggy bed. The ride back is silent, and Yuuri unpacks silently too, fitting out his old room while he waits for his parents to get back from work.

“Tell them to retire,” is all he says to Mari when he comes out of his room. “It’s been long enough.”

“I just told you about the money.”

“I’m paying for Vicchan.”

“And this house?”

“Fuck.”

And suddenly, Yuuri’s aware of how much his family’s financial situation depends on him. He’d chosen to be a dance instructor, something that’d surely be the reason his parents would be unable to retire. Burying his head in his hands with a groan, Yuuri decides that he’d rather cross that bridge when he comes to it.

Ten minutes later, bored, he calls Phichit just to let him know in more detail about Vicchan’s condition. Phichit insists that the poodle _will_ survive, but Yuuri’s not so sure. He can’t let himself hope.

“When are you coming back again?”

“A week, give or take. I’ll schedule my flight when I know for sure how long I need to stay.”

“Take care.”

“Yeah.”

The call disconnects just as the garage door rumbles and their parents make it home. Mari usually works too, but just like Yuuri, she’s taking a break from her waitress job to be on-call 24 hours in case something happens with Vicchan.

There are the customary greetings, hugs, and pleasantries before Yuuri’s mom, a pleasantly plump round-spectacled woman named Hiroko, realizes that it’s nearly dinnertime. She pulls his dad into the kitchen to start preparing dinner – and by the smell that begins wafting through the room, Yuuri figures it’s katsudon. They always make katsudon on special occasions, and Yuuri coming home is definitely rare enough to warrant it.

His stomach grumbles. He hasn’t had homemade katsudon, or even good katsudon, for a long, long time. For a moment, he thinks that maybe he should come home more. Then he remembers why he’s here.

Halfway through their meal, he tells his parents about Vicchan’s payment, and, to no one’s surprise, they decline the offer.

“We couldn’t take your money,” they say. “We know you don’t have much…”

To Yuuri, that stings as much as saying that he should have chosen a better career. He knows it’s not what it means, but it sure feels like the same. “I got a new job, and I’m not in school this semester. I have enough.”

“What’s your job?” Hiroko asks, interest piqued. “Something to do with dance?”

He winces. “No, not exactly. I work as…as a secretary.”

“A desk job?” says his father, raising an eyebrow.

Yuuri nods, adjusting his grip on his chopsticks. “It pays well.”

“For who?”

“A CEO. Victor Nikiforov. I doubt you’ve heard of him.”

An audible gasp sounds from both Toshiya and Hiroko. “Heard of him?” Toshiya holds up his phone. “My phone was made by his company.”

“Yeah, well, the more you know.”

“Get his autograph!” Even Mari is starstruck. The CEO is famous, after all, for being extremely attractive and supremely successful. “Why didn’t you tell me it was _him_?”

Yuuri groans. “I want his autograph too, but it’d be so weird to ask him for one.”

“Not weird at all,” Mari promises. “I’d owe you so much, Yuuri, come on.”

“I’ll see,” he finally settles on, shoveling more delicious katsudon into his mouth. “Anyways, just let me pay for Vicchan. You know I love the hell out of that dog.”

“We all do,” Hiroko replies, but agrees to let Yuuri pay.

“I’m glad you’re doing well, then,” Toshiya says gently. “I was always worried about where you would end up.”

“I’m doing fine,” Yuuri answers stiffly. They seem to agree silently that the topic has come to a close, and move on to other, less contentious things to talk about.

After dinner, he washes the dishes and then retires to his room. It’s been a while since everything’s just been silent, and he finds that he likes it. Feeling nostalgic, Yuuri turns on his laptop, connects to the Wi-Fi (the password is 112911 after his birthday), and browses through various sites he used to waste time on as a child. The games are attractive and colorful, although he has long forgotten his passwords, and he even opens his old Spotify account on a whim to look at his teenage song library. It’s all Hayley Kiyoko and Carly Rae Jepsen (“I was clearly in denial about being a gay fuck,” says Yuuri to himself as he scrolls. He finds a playlist titled “I LIKE GIRLZ” with only rap music and Ed Sheeran in it and shakes his head slowly.).

Midnight approaches fast after Yuuri spends a couple hours rediscovering his avid passion for Carly Rae Jepsen, and he sleeps fitfully with anxious thoughts of Vicchan in his mind. Three times through the night he awakens, and he finally gets up for good at around eight in the morning. The time zones are still fucking with him.

Swallowing his meds, he decides to go for a run. It’s hot during the day – but right now, not so much. The run clears his mind, but at the end of it he finds himself back at the animal clinic, with a large red CLOSED sign pinned to the front. Sighing, he rues the fact that the town is so small, that a half an hour run can lead him right to the doorstep of all his troubles.

Patting his pockets, Yuuri notes that he does have his phone and wallet with him, and the clinic does open in another half an hour. He walks to a nearby café turned bakery and decides to wait.

_‘out running + getting breakfast will be home for lunch’_ he texts to their family groupchat, which isn’t used for much other than his parents trying to get a hold of him while he’s away.

After wiping his sweat discreetly with a few paper towels in the bathroom, Yuuri orders a coffee – a daily routine since beginning his work for Victor – and a croissant. The minutes tick by slowly, but it’s nine thirty soon enough. The receptionist waves him through.

Once again, he’s not prepared for how small Vicchan looks. He knows the dog is just a toy poodle, nowhere near the size of Victor’s own Makkachin, or many other dog breeds. Still, he doesn’t remember Vicchan being _this_ tiny. All the medical equipment surrounding the animals in the room is making his head spin.  

“It’s looking better,” says a helper who’s busy feeding the pets that are awake or are capable of eating solids. The boy looks up at Yuuri and smiles. “If that’s your dog, I mean. He slept well – no thrashing.”

“That’s…good,” says Yuuri, relieved but unsure of how to make conversation in such a spare, personal moment. “I’m glad.”

Yuuri stays for another fifteen minutes, deliberating before finally snapping a picture to take with him, even if it’s not the kind of memory he’d like to remember.

* * *

Two days later, they receive news. And it’s not bad, but it’s really not good news.

“The internal bleeding has more or less stopped, so he’s no longer in critical condition,” says the veterinarian, eyes ringed with dark circles. Vicchan has always come to this clinic for all his checkups, and there’s no doubt the doctor cares about the little toy poodle immensely. “But his leg’s infection has been getting worse. There’s a chance the amputation surgery won’t go well, and Vicchan will not live through it, but if you wait to decide, then the infection may spread instead of healing. And then we may have to amputate two legs with further risk.”

After a long, painful, and teary deliberation, his family decides to leave much of the decision to Yuuri, since he will be the one paying for the surgery or surgeries, as well as Vicchan’s stay in the clinic. If Vicchan survives, Yuuri will also be tasked with finding prosthetics. He wants to scream that he doesn’t _want_ this decision, but at the same time, he doesn’t think he could bear letting someone else decide the fate of his beloved dog.

“What’s the success percentage of the single leg amputation?”

“It’s fifty-fifty,” says the vet. “His body is very fragile right now and too much stress could start the internal bleeding again, and then it will be unlikely to stop.”

“And the two-leg amputation?”

“He will have only a twenty percent chance of survival.”

The truth is, Yuuri has more or less made the decision. A callous one, more based on his financial situation, but any deciding factor is a necessary one. He will not be able to afford the double-leg amputation and two prosthetics on top of the waiting period for the infection. He cannot take the chance that the infection will heal in a couple days, especially when it has been getting worse.

“Please take care of him,” Yuuri all but begs the doctor as they leave, forms signed and payments arranged.

The doctor shakes his hand firmly. “I will do my best.” The surgery will begin the next day, and by the end of the day tomorrow, Vicchan will be either dead or alive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no promises of consistent updates....we die like men 
> 
> i've already made up my mind on whether vicchan lives or dies (for once i have a plot point in mind) so usually i would poll on this but NOT TODAY


	8. yuuri finally gets that pay raise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reminder that i dont edit for shit and that this is a self indulgent fanfic

It’s a Monday when Yuuri returns to work, eye bags dark and holding a cup of black coffee. The plane had landed less than seven hours ago, and the few hours of shut-eye he had gotten were not enough to keep him looking like a functional human being.

 _Not that the staff look any better,_ Yuuri thinks, pausing to gape at Christophe nearly falling asleep on his desk and Otabek yawning almost every two seconds. Without his signature eyeliner, Christophe looks oddly young.

Victor is waiting for him once he steps out of the elevator. Surprisingly, he doesn’t look angry at all, not even like he’s about to fire Yuuri’s disrespectful ass on the spot.

“How was your trip?” he asks, face screwed up in a way that means he desperately wants to ask more and is barely holding himself back. Yuuri almost wants to laugh.

“Fine,” shrugs Yuuri, knowing that Victor will get the hint to back off. “Why does everyone look so tired?”

“ _You_ look tired,” counters Victor, peering closely at Yuuri’s eye bags and getting a little too close for comfort. Yuuri is so not ready for his attractiveness this early in the morning.

“Yeah, but Christophe’s practically dead at his desk.”

“I had his secretary pick up some of your workload,” Victor says, walking briskly towards their offices. “I guess it’s been hard on him.”

Halfway to the office, JJ walks by – walks, for once, instead of roller skating or something equally absurd – with his face drawn like a zombie. “Hey Yuuri. Welcome back,” he mumbles, hands coming up to rub at his eyes.

Yuuri double takes. “See that?” he says, mouth opening in astonishment. “You can’t tell me there’s nothing wrong. What happened last week?”

“Nothing!” Victor chirps.

“Bullshit!” shouts Mila from the office to the right. “I’ll tell you what, Yuuri. When you were gone, Victor turned into a mess and we had to do all his work for him.”

“That’s so wrong, Mila!” Victor near screams back. “Yuuri, Mila’s telling lies again. She’s a pathological liar and you shouldn’t listen to her.”

A chorus of booing sounds from the cubicles surrounding Mila’s larger office.

“We’re glad you’re back though, Yuuri,” says Mila, walking out and patting him on the shoulder. “I don’t think we would’ve survived another week.”

Victor grumbles from beside them. “We would have survived all the weeks. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Yuuri just laughs nervously, scratching at his chin. “Well, you guys did fine before I was hired, so I’m sure it’d be fine. But I’m glad to be back too!”

Mila shakes her head of wild red hair fondly and goes back to work, fingernails clicking on the keyboard rapidly.

“Okay,” exhales Victor sulkily as they reach their offices. “Call me if you need anything. There shouldn’t be much work today since Chris’s secretary is still doing some of it.”

“I’ll take it,” says Yuuri. “It’s fine. Tell them they can stop.”

“Listen,” Victor says, turning around to face Yuuri, eyes focused and serious in a frightening way. “I don’t know why you took the last week off, and I’m not going to pry. But please, let me do this for you.” Then, he sweeps into his office and shuts the door with a little more force than usual.

Yuuri gulps. “Okay,” he mumbles and heads into his office, spotting the familiar pile of paperwork although it is significantly lesser than it used to be.

For some reason, working through the pile is cathartic and familiar. Sinking back in his chair, he notices his hand is shaking. But he doesn’t feel bad at all – he feels like his life is falling back under control.

* * *

Phichit is a Literal God. The takeout smells amazing – Phichit _knows_ this is his favorite local restaurant.

“Welcome Back Yuuri party!” Phichit cheers, popping open a bottle of ten dollar wine. The small living room is empty save the two of them, so it’s honestly not much of a party, but Phichit had still gone the whole nine yards and bought balloons, streamers, and noisemakers. Between opening takeout boxes and pouring the wine, Phichit holds one between his lips and blows every couple seconds, creating a god awful cacophony.

Yuuri groans, pretending to be annoyed although he’s clearly smiling. “Phichit, stop, my ears are going to start bleeding.”

“Well, good,” says Phichit, who nonetheless and throws the noisemaker aside. “That’s what you get for forgetting to text me back for two days.”

“I was _stressed_.”

“Stress is no excuse.” Phichit frowns. “I worry about you sometimes.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “I’m a literal adult. Now, look at these cute pictures.” Mouth splitting into a wide grin, he pulls up the pictures that Mari had just sent him, taken probably about four years ago. In one of them, he’s holding a healthy Vicchan, standing on the bridge near his childhood home. In another one, he’s seventeen and literally crying because the doctor is about to give him his flu shot. Still, he clutches Vicchan for comfort as the doctor swabs down his arm with an alcohol wipe.

“I was such a crybaby,” says Yuuri smiling fondly down at his phone. “Shots scared me so much.”

“Same.” Phichit mimes wiping tears from his eyes at the cuteness of the pictures. “Post this on Instagram.”

“I look so bad, though.”

“Your college glow-up _was_ impressive,” admits Phichit.

“Thanks.”

“But the one on the bridge is so cute! You have to release it for the rest of the world.”

“You mean the rest of my ten followers?”

“Yes!”

Yuuri thrusts his phone into Phichit’s hands. “You can post whatever you want, but don’t ask me for caption ideas. This is in no way affiliated with me.”

“It’s your Instagram account.”

“You practically run all my social media anyways.”

Phichit has already turned his attention to filters and hashtags. “It’s lame to use filters now, you know. If you have to use them, then it means you suck at finding good lighting.”

“Me,” says Yuuri loudly.

“And I guess it can kind of seem attention seeking if you use hashtags, but I’m still a fan of fun ones. Gotta be creative. Don’t want to sound lame.”

“Mood,” says Yuuri even louder.

Phichit looks up and makes a shooing motion with his hand. “Go and eat! Drink some cheap wine or whatever. I’ll join you after I’ve made the post.”

“Don’t slander me.”

“No worries.”

Ten minutes later, Yuuri gapes as he swipes through the pictures that Phichit has posted. “Where the hell did you get this one?”

“Don’t think I don’t know of your secret folder of college pictures, Yuuri. You can’t lie to me.”

Yuuri sighs noisily and shakes his head. “I couldn’t delete them…I didn’t want to lose them forever.”

“So I posted one!” chirped Phichit.

“And did you have to use such an outdated caption?” Yuuri asks, pointing at the ‘ _you vs. the guy she told you not to worry about_.’ “I haven’t seen that one used in practically a century.” It’s the photo of Yuuri crying at the doctor’s office with Vicchan compared to another ancient picture of Yuuri, red solo cup in hand and glitter smeared on his face, mesh shirt completely see-through. “And I thought you were going to use the bridge picture! Why this one?”

Phichit shrugs. “It was funnier. Look! Victor already liked it.”

“He probably hates it.”

“It’s you in a see-through shirt. What’s to hate?”

“Yeah. Me in a see-through shirt. You can literally see my flab.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“Actually, he probably doesn’t even care enough to hate it.”

“He clearly cares very deeply about you,” says Phichit, frowning.

“Who, _me_?”

“He asked me like fifty times about your whereabouts when you first left for home.”

“Yeah, it seems like he had a tough time reassigning my workload. The whole office has been strangely out of energy.”

Phichit hums. “I don’t think it’s just that, but if you say so.”

* * *

“He is _so_ cute,” gushes Victor, double-tapping the screen so that white heart after heart pops up. “Just look at that dog.”

“Are you sure you mean the dog and not the man?” asks Chris, looking on with interest at the spectacle Victor is making of himself.

“Oh, Yuuri’s cute too. But that dog is like a mini version of Makkachin!”

“Speaking of Yuuri, are you ready to give my poor secretary a break?”

“Oh yeah, tell her she can stop working on the meeting notes. Yuuri can take them.”

“Did you ever find out what happened?” Chris wants to know too, but he hasn’t dared to ask Yuuri. Everyone knows that the kid is a private sort of person.

Victor shrugs. “No, but I won’t pry.”

“What a stellar personality,” teases Chris, taking a sip of Victor’s very expensive, very fine wine. “You are a good man.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s out of the goodness of my heart,” admits Victor, staring off to one side with a curious expression on his face. “I just don’t know how to ask. I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure he’ll tell you sooner rather than later. He doesn’t seem like the type to just leave people in the dark.”

“Oh, for sure. He’s a little too anxious for that.” They both laugh.

* * *

Yuuri tells Victor a week later.

He’s sitting in his office, testing out his new fountain pen on some important paperwork, when his phone buzzes loudly. Since the day he missed Mari’s calls and texts, he’s been leaving his phone on even if it’s unprofessional. Truth be told, no one in the entire office is that professional – that’s just the way Victor runs things.

Face lighting up in a gleeful expression, he spins around in his chair and quickly screenshots the four pictures he’s been sent. Vicchan has just been fitted for his new prosthetic since recovering from the dangerous surgery a week ago. Yuuri sends the cutest one, the photo of Vicchan placing a tentative paw on a white prosthetic leg with his tongue lolling out, to Phichit, before bounding downstairs to take his coffee break.

“Leo!” he calls, waving at the barista, who smiles back. “Look at these pictures.”

“I’m so glad he’s doing well,” Leo replies, taking Yuuri’s order while leaning over the counter to glance at the pictures. “That’s why you were gone a week, right? Guang-hong was very worried.”

“Yep! And I’m not surprised, honestly. Guang-hong has an obsession with cute things and my dog is the cutest thing on Earth. He loves Vicchan.”

“Make sure to show him those photos,” Leo says warmly, handing Yuuri his drink. “I think he’ll cry.”

Yuuri grins gratefully, pays, and says his goodbyes. Talking to Leo always cheers him up, whether the barista himself is aware of it or not.

Five minutes later, he’s back downstairs, clutching his own coffee and groaning at the chore.

“What’s up, Yuuri? Back again?”

“I’d just gotten upstairs when Victor said he wanted coffee too. He has an uncanny ability to choose the worse times to ask me for a coffee run.”

With two cups safely in his hands, Yuuri walks briskly back to the elevator. Victor’s obsession with getting at least five cups of coffee a day is starting to worry him. It can’t be healthy, right?

“Coffee delivery,” he calls out, even though he knows Victor’s office is soundproof in every direction. Rolling his eyes at his occupied hands, he bangs an elbow against the door loudly, hoping it’ll suffice for a knock. It does.

“Yuuri! Thanks,” says Victor, throwing open the door.

“No problem.” He offers a tentative smile against the sparkling force of Victor’s grin.

“You seem in a better mood today. What’s up?” asks Victor, leaning against the door attractively, like a magazine model in the flesh.

“My dog is getting fitted with his prosthetic today. He’s healing well from his surgery too.”

“Oh! The dog from your Instagram?”

“Yeah,” sighs Yuuri. “He just had his surgery last week, so I was pretty worried.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that he was injured at all.”

“He got hit by a car, unfortunately. It was tough. And, uh, I’m guessing you’ve figured it out by now, but that’s why I was gone last week. Sorry for the last-minute leave – it really was unprofessional of me.”

“It’s no problem at all. Wishing your poodle a fast recovery.”

“Thanks.” Yuuri contemplates whether or not to ask Victor about the raise he needs to pay Vicchan’s bills. Who knows when he’ll be able to bring up the topic again? He really does need it, unless he wants his family to suffer through more financial struggles. Plus, if he had to ask his parents for money, they would no doubt start questioning his dreams and occupation again, and he was doubly tired of that. “And…one more thing.”

“Yeah?” Victor cocks a brow and puts a hand on his hip. He’s probably just getting comfortable, but what he doesn’t know is that it makes him a hell of a lot more intimidating.

Taking a deep breath, he says quickly, “Would it be possible for me to get a raise on my salary? Just a few dollars an hour. I’m…the one paying for the surgery and the prosthetic and the rehab…and I just need a little more.”

“Oh,” says Victor. Yuuri gulps. “Of course! All you had to do was ask.”

“Thank you _so_ much.”

“No problem. After all, this is your only job, right? You’re a student?”

“Yeah. I’m studying to become a teacher.” He pointedly does not mention what type of teacher, although Victor definitely knows.

Victor gives a rare eye-smile, corners of his eyes crinkling in a rather adorable way. “Good luck with that then. Thanks for the coffee.” Yuuri hesitantly returns the smile and waves goodbye.

Settling back into his spinney chair, Yuuri figures that everything in his life is finally going according to plan. It’s so rare to get a brief respite from all the things going _wrong_. Vicchan is okay, he hasn’t been fired from a job he was unqualified to get in the first place, and he’s going to finish his degree successfully so that he can start working for his dream job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Guys I Watched All 64 Episodes Of Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood In 6 Days and now i'm listening to the 3 hour soundtrack nonstop because i feel hollow not partaking in something fmab related 
> 
> finish the line in the comments:   
> winry: granny's making stew tonight.  
> alphonse: ________
> 
> also hey vicchan lives! im gonna be honest with you, up til two chapters ago i was gonna have him die because i hate diverging from canon bbbbUT he lives because i made an unexplained split second decision 
> 
> just want u 2 know i'm not trying to make this slow burn or whatever i just honestly don't have a plotline in mind so they're just never going to get together :))))))) (that's a joke they're going to get together i promise)


End file.
